Finding Eden
by sinemoras09
Summary: Her twilit shadow seems to fade, and the whole of her body is nothing more than a reflection on a pane of glass. Eden and Gabriel come together. Eden X Gabriel. AU. Angst.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

.

Sarah was only fourteen when she saw her mother try to kill herself: she had just walked into the barn when she saw a large black shape leap off the loft, the pigeons scattering with the sound of something dropping overhead. It was bright inside, the barn was flooded with light, and Sarah could barely make out what was happening. Shielding her eyes with her hand, Sarah looked up and saw her mother hanging backlit in the sunshine, the specks of dust floating in the air. It wasn't until her body jerked that Sarah knew she was still alive.

Sarah shot up the ladder and hauled her mother back onto the loft, sticking two fingers between the rope and her mother's neck to give it slack. Her mother wheezed, and she knew she had to get help. She ran to the house where her father was drunk and sprawled on the couch. Screaming and crying and shaking his shoulder, she tried to wake him but he didn't move. She ran to the neighbors instead.

Sometimes she wonders, what if she just called 911? What if she didn't run to the neighbors, who lived half a mile down the road? What if she were older, legs stronger and pumping faster, could she have made it in time? She remembered how her feet pounded against the dirt road, the dust kicking up around her legs and choking her eyes, and how her lungs were tight and ready to burst. She flung the neighbor's door open and screamed. That's the last thing she remembers.

.

The morning her mother tried to kill herself, Sarah was watching her move around in the kitchen. Normally she would stand quietly in front of the stove while Sarah fussed around with her oatmeal, but this time was different. Her mother couldn't stop moving. Her mother _roamed_. She paced the kitchen, folding and unfolding a towel in her hands. Her eyes seemed to wander everywhere, and when she sat at the table, she sat down where her father usually sat. When Sarah looked at her mother's face, she noticed she seemed to be watching everything, her eyes moving from the table, to the oatmeal, to the china in the china cabinet. Her mother had wide green eyes that crinkled in the corners, but that morning they seemed vacant, blind. They darted back from the floor to meet Sarah's gaze, and when their eyes locked Sarah had to look away.

Sarah got up to get her schoolbooks ready; when she came back, her mother wasn't in the kitchen anymore. She found her in the den, standing by the dead deer's head over the fireplace. Leaning against the doorway, Sarah watched as her mother reached up and traced the deer's nose with her fingertips, then the wooden plaque it was mounted on. Her mother's eyes rose and skimmed the dusty shelves before focusing on the window opposite her. Walking to the window, she looked outside, and her reflection was watery and distorted by the rain. Dark hair curled by her mother's throat, and there were even darker circles under her eyes. She was holding a cup of coffee, but it was cold; Sarah knew because the steam had stopped rising from it a while ago.

"When do you think your dad's coming back?" her mother asked.

Sarah fidgeted with her book bag. "I don't know," she said.

Her mother's gaze broke from the window and turned toward her; she smiled as if they shared a secret.

"They let you down," her mother said. She set the cup down and knelt beside her; she smelled like sweat and baby powder. She gripped Sarah's arms. "Don't _ever_ let them let you down."

Sarah's arms started to go numb and she squirmed, pulling away. "I'm going to miss the bus," Sarah said. Her mother let go, and her eyes misted over.

When Sarah got home from school, it was raining and Sarah couldn't find her again; she opened the kitchen door and instead of seeing her mother standing over the stove, she saw overturned chairs and broken beer bottles littering the floor. Glass had crunched under her feet when she walked in, and the room was thick with the stale, sick smell of smoke. Everything was still except for the raspy breathing of her father passed out on the couch. Her mother wasn't in the living room; she wasn't in the bedroom and she wasn't in the den. Sarah went outside. The yard was empty, the old barn staring back at her.

She still has nightmares about it, even to this day: she dreams of dark spaces, of big black birds and hay glowing like fire. And above her, Sarah dreams of her mother's body swinging from the rafters, and how her head rolled loose like a broken doll's.

.

"Fuck," her father said. They were standing outside, watching the paramedics cart her mother's body away. Her mother wasn't dead but she should have been; her eyes were glazed over but she was breathing, a thready pulse denying the peace her mother must have wanted. "Your mother was a stupid woman," her father said, and Sarah wanted to cry. It stopped raining when the paramedics left.

"Is she going to be okay?" Sarah asked. Her father stared at the barn, lips tight and swirling the beer bottle in his hand. "Is she?"

He smacked her across the face with the beer bottle. Sarah staggered back, her lip bleeding.

"It's your fault!" her father said. "You should have stayed with her! You fucking little bitch, you know how she gets! Why didn't you stay with her?" He raised his arm as if to hit her, but he didn't. He stared at her instead, his eyes drunk and angry and looking like they would pop out of his skull.

"I'm sorry," Sarah said. Her father took another swig of beer.

.

When her mother got out of the hospital, she shuffled slowly and her face was turned to the side. Her mouth didn't close all the way and she gaped listlessly at them, her head loose and rolling side to side. "Say hi to your mother," her father said. Sarah took a step forward.

"Mom?"

Her mother's eyes rolled upward, trying to focus. Sarah wanted to hide. Her mother's slack lips widened into what might have been a smile.

"Haaaaaaa," her mother said. Drool dripped down her chin.

"It's Sarah," her father said. He stood tight-lipped and hulking, something like anger or concern flashing on his face. "Don't you recognize Sarah?"

Eyes rolled from her father back to her. "Haaaa," her mother said. Sarah couldn't look at her.

These were the things that no one in her family talked about, things that the neighbors spoke about in hushed whispers overheard at the bus stop. Sarah would see the prying eyes peeking from behind closed drapes, or the soft, pitying looks of passersby when she and her father went grocery shopping. Everywhere they went, people were looking, staring, judging. But no one knew the truth of it. Sarah didn't even know the truth of it, and she lived it every day.

.

"Your mother wasn't right," her father said, as if he were talking about homework, or a misspelled word in scrabble. And Sarah agreed: she _wasn't_ right, she was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, in every way wrong. The way her body was stiff in the hospital bed, the way her arms flexed inward and her feet curled in; the way she would look right up at them and not recognize them. Everything was wrong. Later she would curse herself, torture herself over missed words and missed opportunities, but her fourteen-year-old self was terrified; her fourteen-year-old self hid behind her father, even though he smelled like beer and cigarettes, because her mother wasn't a person anymore, she was a thing--a lump of flesh, wobbly and unsteady on her feet. But what scared Sarah more was her father, and his sudden concern for her mother. "Look Bea, look, I brought you something," he'd say, and he would pull her mother limply into the bedroom, or the living room, or the couch in front of the TV. "I brought you lipstick," he would say, and he would try to put it on her mother's lips, his hands shaking and smearing lipstick all over her mouth. "It's not so easy, since her mouth is open," he'd say. Sometimes he would stare at her, eyes and hands restless and fidgeting on his lap. "Oh, Bea, I'm so sorry," he'd say, over and over, and even at fourteen years old, Sarah knew there was a deeper meaning. She just couldn't discern what.

.

Her father only apologized like that once before Sarah's mother had tried to kill herself. Sarah remembers it well: how he staggered home at 3 AM, and how her mother sat perched on the couch, staring at the window. Sarah had woken up to the sound of her mother crying and ended up sitting next to her in the living room. Sarah was only nine, and her mother sat her on her lap; her knees were bony and her breath was sour from crying. When her father staggered in, her mother pushed Sarah to the side.

"Who is she?" her mother asked. Her mother's hand raked Sarah's hair.

"Who?" her father asked.

"Her! Her! Who is she?" her mother asked. She stood and grabbed Sarah by the shoulders. "Don't you lie," she said. "Don't you lie in front of our daughter!"

Her father smacked her across the face. Her mother flew backwards, crashing into sofa.

"Mom!" Sarah said. She ran to her mother's side.

"Little bitch," her father said. He shoved Sarah against the wall, yanking her mother up by her shirt front and dragged her into the bedroom.

"Mom!" Sarah said. She ran after them. "Mom, mom!"

"Sarah go to bed!" her father said. Her mother was crying. "Now!" he said.

Sarah ran into her room and shut the door. She clamped her eyes shut and covered her ears, rocking herself to sleep. She could hear her mother wailing in the background.

The next morning her mother didn't leave the bedroom, and Sarah could hear her sobbing. Her father sat at the kitchen table, eyes bloodshot, hungover and hunched. When Sarah got closer, she saw he was nursing a cup of coffee. "Your mother made me do it," her father said. He seemed to be talking to the coffee. "I didn't want to, but she gave me no choice."

The sobs echoed down the hallway. Her father closed his eyes, rubbing his temple. "She made me do it," he repeated. The wailing got louder.

"Shut up!" her father said. He slammed his fist on the table. Coffee splattered over the cup. "Shut up, shut up, shut _up_!"

He smashed the coffee cup against the wall. Sarah jumped back. The wailing stopped.

Her father hunched over again, eyes bloodshot and sober. "She fucking made me," he said. "I'm not an animal."

Sarah took the broom and mop from the closet and began sweeping up the broken cup, the coffee making sticky streaks on the floor.

.

Her mother's eyes crinkled when she smiled. Irish eyes, they called them. Always smiling. On the day her father decided to send her to the nursing home, Sarah remembers that her mother's eyes crinkled.

"You want to leave here, don't you?" Sarah asked. Her mother's head bobbed loosely in excitement. Sarah pushed it back upright.

"I made you something," Sarah said, and she showed her mother the red and yellow bracelet she knotted together earlier; the beads were smooth and brightly colored. "See mom, it matches your dress," Sarah said, and she tied it around her mother's wrist.

"Haaaaa," her mother said. Her mother's mouth spread wide. Her eyes crinkled.

"I'll visit you every day," Sarah said, and she hugged her mom hard. She smelled like baby powder.

"Sarah!"

Sarah turned. Her father staggered into the living room. "Sarah!" he said.

Sarah scrambled to her feet. "Dad, I was just--"

The punch sent her crashing into the coffee table.

"Eeeeh!" her mother said.

Sarah groaned, turning over.

"What did I say about bothering your mother?" her father said. He was drunk. His words were thick in his mouth.

"I'm sorry," Sarah said. She started to cry.

"You goddamn right you're sorry," her father said. He yanked her up by her shirt and shoved her against the wall. "You're mother just needs some _peace_! She can't get it with you smothering her like this!"

"Eeeeeeeh!" her mother said. "Eeeeh! Eeeeh!"

"It's your fault!" he said. He slammed her head against the wall. "It's your fault, you shouldn't have left her! You shouldn't have--"

"Eeeeeh!!" her mother said. She bobbed, writhing. Her hands slapped uselessly against her side. "Eeeh! Eeeeeh! Eeeeeh!"

"Look what you did! You're upsetting her," her father said. He let go of Sarah's shirt, and she crumpled on the ground like a sack of potatoes. Her father went up to her mother and gathered her up into his arms. "Shhh, baby shhhh," he said. His drunk piggy eyes filled with tears. "My poor baby," he said. Greasy tears ran down his face.

"Dad I'm sorry," Sarah said. "Dad, dad please--"

"Shut up," her father said. He carried her mother back to the bedroom.

.

"I wonder what she's doing right now," her father said. A week had passed since the ambulance came to take her mother to the nursing home. "I wonder if she misses me."

_She doesn't miss you_, Sarah thought, but she stared at her eggs, instead.

Her father stabbed his grapefruit, then reached for another beer.

"Your mother had a lot of problems," her father said. He took a swig, then swiped his sleeve across his mouth. "She was fucking paranoid. I just liked going out with my boys. A couple beers, that's all. She was really fucking paranoid."

Sarah pushed her eggs with her fork. They were slightly rubbery, a pale, jaundiced yellow. She mashes them up with the side of her fork.

"I was doing the dry wall over at the new Burger King," her father said. "That's hard work, doing dry wall. A man's gotta _relax_, gotta wind down. And the bitch wouldn't put out for nothin. What's a man supposed to do?"

He took another swig. Sarah watched as the beer dribbled down his chin.

"It's your fault," he said. "I fucking told her not to have you, but she insisted. What was I supposed to do? I'm a man of my word, I ain't no asshole. I'm not gonna leave a girl in trouble like that. I _loved_ her, goddammit. And you had to fucking ruin _everything_." He was drunk now, the fleshy skin of his lips shining with a thin coat of saliva.

"Don't look at me like that," he said. He slammed the bottle down. "Hey!" he said. He grabbed her arm. "Don't you fucking look at me like that, I'm your fucking_father_."

Sarah turned away. She stared at her hands, and at the dirt underneath her fingernails.

.

Her father was passed out on the couch when the nursing home called: they needed them to come in right away, they had some bad news.

"Your wife died last night," the nurse manager said. "She choked on one of her bracelets."

"Choked?" her father said. "What do you mean, choked?"

Sarah's chest tightened. She remembered tying the delicate red string around her mother's wrist, how her mother's eyes crinkled and her mouth stretched into a broad smile.

"It's possible she didn't know what she was doing, but given her psychiatric history, it was probably intentional. I'm so sorry. We did everything we could," the nurse manager said.

Her father slammed his fist against the table.

"I'm going to sue your asses," her father said. "I'm going to sue your asses and shut this whole place _down_!"

He grabbed Sarah by the arm and stormed out. He went home and raided the liquor cabinet, guzzling all the bottles and smashing them on the ground. Sarah hid in her bedroom, listening to the sound of crashing glass on linoleum tile. She heard him stagger, then heard him thud. Out of habit, she opened the door and crept back to the kitchen. Her father was passed out on the floor.

Sarah crouched low and rolled him on his side. Her father gurgled. She stood and carefully swept up all the glasses, sweeping them into delicate piles on the floor. The sun was starting to set, and orange light came in slanted through the kitchen windows, making the glass sparkle like crystal. Her father grunted. She could hear the wind and the sounds of birds calling out in the distance. She remembered how her mother's eyes crinkled, just like hers. Irish eyes, they said, the same Irish eyes that seemed to sparkle and stare straight into hers while she was hanging from the rafters...

Her father wheezed, turning and groaning in his sleep, and Sarah's thoughts turned back to that morning, back to how her mother stood by the window looking out into the rain, and how her hands curled delicately around the coffee cup; she thought about the tips of her mother's fingers, and how they were white and pale like china...

_It's my fault_, she thought, and she pushed her father's shoulder with her foot. _I shouldn't have left her alone_.


	2. Part I: Queens

**Part I**

.

In a school hallway in Queens, pigeons fly past the dirt-streaked windows, the sounds of traffic and people filtering through the supposedly sound-proof glass. He stands by the lockers and hunches his back; he's tall and he doesn't like attracting attention to himself. The girl in front of him chews gum and stares at him blankly. Her jaw moves slowly, like a cow chewing cud.

"So...I guess you already have a date," Gabriel says. He doesn't know where to put his hands, so he shoves them in his pocket. When she finally leaves, he still doesn't move, standing as if paralyzed. Minutes pass. Behind him, he swears he can hear her and her friends laughing in the hallway.

.

"What do you mean, she said 'no'?"

His mother hurries around the kitchen, hastily stacking the bowls up on the counter.

"She doesn't want to go with me," Gabriel says. "I told you, she doesn't like me. I only asked because you made me."

"How could anyone not like you?" his mother says. She wipes her hands on her apron. "This is obviously some misunderstanding. I'm going to call that girl's mother. We'll get this straightened out."

"Mom, no!" Gabriel is horrified. "Mom, please, I don't even want to go to prom anyway, you're the one that's making me."

"Don't be ridiculous, it's your senior prom," his mother says. "Besides, I know her mother from church. We'll figure this out, I promise." His mother beams.

"You're going to look so handsome in your tux," she says.

Gabriel blanches. His mother picks up the phone.

.

Gabriel walks down the two blocks to the girl's house, feeling like death. The collar to his shirt is uncomfortably tight around his neck, and the sleeves to his coat are too short for his arms. He holds the corsage tightly. When he rings the doorbell, the girl's face is sour, barely civil. "I got you something," Gabriel says. He hands her the corsage, and is horrified to see the sweat from his palms staining the box.

Gabriel sees the girl shoot her mother a nasty look. He cringes inwardly. The girl coughs. "Are we going or what?" she asks.

"Yeah, we're going," Gabriel says. He tries not to throw up.

Prom is held at the Senior Center, and Gabriel is slightly surprised at how formal everything looks. The tables are set with linen cloths; there's a fountain and a buffet, and a professional photographer set up in the corner. Around him, couples are dancing, standing close and leaning into each other.

"There's the photographer," the girl says. "C'mon. Let's hurry up and get our picture taken already. My friends are waiting."

She takes his hand to pull him in line, but she quickly drops it. "Jesus," she says. "Can you not sweat so much?"

"Sorry," Gabriel says.

"And can you stop apologizing? It's getting really old," she says.

"Sorry," Gabriel says. "I mean--shit. Sorry."

The girl crosses her arms and looks away.

Gabriel tries not to stand too close, but the line is crowded, and he's forced to stand right next to her. She's small, and her head barely reaches his chest. He wonders what it would feel like to hold her, to feel her small body pressed up against his.

"God, can you stare any longer? I don't think you're being creepy enough," she says.

Someone waves. Gabriel looks up and sees the girl's friends all grouped together in the corner. They wave frantically, motioning for the girl to join them.

"Who's next in line?" the photographer asks.

The girl glares at Gabriel and grabs him by the wrist. "Come on," she says. They step up onto the platform.

"So this is the happy couple," the photographer says. "I need you to stand over here, and have the young lady stand on your left. Good. Now I'm just going to position your hands--perfect!"

Gabriel's hands are on her waist and his palms are sweaty. He prays his sweat doesn't leave hand prints on her dress.

"You're holding me too tight," she says.

"Sorry," Gabriel says.

"Big smiles!" the photographer says, and he snaps the picture. He hands them the order forms for the color prints, which Gabriel folds up and puts in his pocket.

The girl stands in front of him, hands on her hips. "Are we good, now?" she asks. Gabriel nods, dumbly. She takes off Gabriel's corsage and hands it to him. "Bye," she says, and she skips off to join her friends.

.

When Gabriel gets home, his mother is sitting on the couch, a huge smile on her face. "Did you have a good time?" she asks.

"It was fine," Gabriel says. He doesn't tell her he spent the evening standing by the refreshment stand, drinking punch and watching his date dance with four different guys.

"Oh, I'm so glad!" his mother says. "See, I knew you would have fun! You look so handsome in your little outfit, I knew she would be _all over_ you!"

"Mom!" Gabriel says.

"What? It's true. I have a handsome boy." His mother fluffs his hair and presses her hands against his face. Gabriel thinks about the corsage, and how on the way home, he crushed the flowers in his hand, the petals falling on the street like snow.

"Did you get pictures?" his mother asks, and Gabriel nods, pulling out the order forms from his pocket. His mother snatches them from his hand, unfolding them hastily.

"We'll have to make doubles," she says. "I'll show them off to the people at church. Oh, they'll be so jealous. I can't _wait_ to show them."

Gabriel turns and starts heading to his room.

"Gabriel? Where are you going?"

"I'm tired, mom," Gabriel says. "I had a long night." When he gets to his bedroom, he lies on his bed and stares at the ceiling, thinking about the fountain and the buffet and the happy couples that were dancing around him.

.

Another weekend passes, and Gabriel's mother pulls out the photo albums, which surprises him: they haven't been touched since his father died.

She opens the album up on the coffee table, and next to it, she opens up an old shoe box filled with piles of unsorted photographs. Reverently, she spreads the pictures out in front of her, reams of pictures taken from when his parents were still young. Gabriel watches silently as his mother touches a picture--a particularly hilarious one of Gabriel's dad in a life-jacket, holding a five-year-old Gabriel on his knee--and slips it between the clear plastic sheet. She picks up another picture that Gabriel recognizes as one of the pictures of himself hanging on the wall of their house, and slips it in the second pocket. She's dealing with it better now, Gabriel thinks, and he turns toward the window.

"I'm making room for all your beautiful pictures," Virginia says. Gabriel looks back at her and frowns. "We'll put your prom pictures in here--get some eight by tens. We'll frame those by the wall!"

Gabriel runs his hand through his hair and leans against the wall. His mother's eyes are bright and shining.

"Gabriel, look at this," she says, and she pulls out another baby picture; a picture of him splashing in a water park. "You'll have such beautiful children, I know it."

Gabriel takes the picture from her and studies it closely. He's barely a toddler, and smiling wide; his hair is blonde and his hazel eyes look almost green. It's completely different from the way he looks now, and he touches his dark hair self-consciously. At prom, he lurked close by the girl and her friends, following just a few steps behind her. "He's like a fucking _dog_," one of her friends said, and he crushed the corsage in his hand. Later, he followed the girl and her friends down the street, stalking heavily behind them. She got scared and she ran into her girlfriend's apartment; it wasn't until one of her guy friends came up to him that Gabriel decided to go home.

"You've always been such a good boy," Virginia says. She takes his face into her hands. "I'm so proud of you."

That night, Gabriel lies in bed and touches himself. He thinks of the girl's hair, and how small she was in his arms. He imagines shoving her against the mattress, and how her legs would scissor open. It's quick and gritty and when he finally comes, he comes in thick stripes, the semen landing on his stomach and chest. In the room next door, his mother is snoring, and his bedroom shakes with the sound of the trains passing above him.


	3. Coffee and Cigarettes

Five months later, and Sarah's still grieving. Her father, though, has different plans, and soon enough he finds a suitable replacement: a stripper called Paradise, old and blonde and ready for retirement. Some nights, if she wakes early enough, or if she stays up long enough, she can see her father and the stripper stagger down the dirt path, their feet kicking up dust and their laughter echoing in the dark.

Sarah can't sleep; she can hear their feet on the gravel. The stripper's name is Kim, and she's trailer trash. She's as old as her father, but she dresses too young: her lipstick is too red and her shirts are too low-cut. Her skin is brown and leathery, blue eyeshadow caking the lines around her eyes. Whenever she bends over, Sarah can see her buttocks peaking out from beneath her mini-skirt.

Sarah moves from the bedroom to the kitchen window, quiet and keeping hidden in shadow. She sees her father pulling the woman close, a beer in one hand and the blonde's ass in another. "Fuck you!" the woman laughs. Her voice is cigarette-smoke deep, scratchy and low like gravel.

They burst through the door, laughing and clinking bottles. Sarah shrinks back. She doesn't want them to see her. "We might wake the girl!" the woman says, and her father slaps her on the ass. "Who gives a shit, she's asleep," he says, and he slams her into the wall.

The woman looks up. "Oh_ shit_!" she says. Sarah jumps back. The woman flips on the light, tugging her shirt down.

Her father looks up. "Sarah!" he says.

Sarah runs back to her bedroom.

Her father yanks her by the shoulder, pulling her backward. "What the _fuck_ were you doing?" he asks. Sarah squirms.

"Calm down," the woman says. She flops on the couch, and Sarah can't help but notice the stretch marks on her sagging breasts. "I'm in too good a mood to get pulled into this domestic bullshit."

She lights a cigarette and inhales deeply. Her voice gets even scratchier with the smoke.

"She's a fucking pervert, is what," the woman says. "And she's not pulling this shit when I get here, swear to God." She flashes her hand in front of Sarah's face, and she sees her mother's engagement ring sitting on the blonde's finger. "That's right, baby doll," the woman says. "I'm gonna be your new mama, now."

"That was mom's," Sarah says. She stares at her father, wide-eyed.

"Your mom's dead," her father says.

"But it was hers!" Sarah says.

"Oh,_fuck_, here we go with the drama," the woman says. She inhales the cigarette deeply.

"I told you to be nice to Kim," her father says. "She's your new mother now, you best be minding her."

"She's not my mother," Sarah says.

Her father smacks her across the face. "Don't talk to your mother that way," her father says.

Sarah can taste blood. The woman laughs, drunk and teetering on stiletto heels.

.

They have a civil ceremony, her stepmother dressed in a tight white dress. Her skin is so tan it looks almost black, and the hem of her dress is so tight it cuts into her thighs. The tops of her breasts spill over the top of her dress, and her bottle-blonde hair looks more brittle than usual. Sarah is forced to wear a dress too, the unfilled cups of her top sagging loosely. "She sure didn't get your looks," her stepmother says to her father, and she laughs, her voice deep and scratchy.

That night, Sarah stands naked in front of the mirror. She sees nothing but narrow shoulders and even narrower hips, and the promise of breasts barely budding from her chest. She thinks of her stepmother's body, how it seemed to overflow from the dress, and the easy way she moved across a room, hips and breasts and arms undulating in one sinuous movement. Sarah touches her hair unconsciously. It's stringy and falls in front of her eyes. She presses her arms against her chest to pump up her breasts, making cleavage, or at least, trying to. She squeezes her arms again, sucking in her belly and standing to the side. She can see the hand marks from earlier in the day, red and angry on her skin.

Lying in bed, Sarah's hands slip underneath her nightgown. Gingerly she palms the fleshy undersides of her breasts, her shoulders, her collarbone. She closes her eyes and imagines they're not her hands but someone else's, a boy's or a man's, large hands palming her skin. She feels the soft curve of her belly, how her skin rises and dips lower, soft and warm to the touch, travels upward to feel her nipples harden as her other hand snakes its way between her legs. With her eyes closed, she touches herself, the pads of her fingers rubbing her clit with firm strokes. She pretends it's the neighbor's hands, her classmate's hands, the actor on TV. Her breath comes out in tight spurts and her muscles clench, on the cusp of coming.

"What the fuck is that?" Her stepmother's voice coming from the other room. Lights turn on in the hallway and Sarah yanks her nightgown back down, mortified. The door bursts open.

"What's wrong?" her father asks.

"Nothing," Sarah says. "I was sleeping."

"Don't lie to me, you were crying, I heard you," her father says. "You little bitch. You're crying because of your stepmother, aren't you?"

"No!" Sarah says.

Her father slaps her across the face. Sarah's hand flies up to her cheek, stunned.

Her stepmother walks behind him, bleary-eyed and wearing see-through lingerie. "What's her problem?" she asks. Sarah can see her nipples poking through the fabric.

"Ignore her," her father says. Her stepmother disappears behind him. He glares. "If I even hear one sound," he says, and he clenches his fist. Sarah shrinks back under the covers.

The lights go off. Sarah lies in the dark, staring out her bedroom window. Outside the leaves on the trees are rimmed with white, the soft moonlight filtering into her room. She curls up on her side and draws her knees to her chest. By her bedroom wall, she can hear her father and her stepmother fucking in the room next door.

.

Her stepmother lights a cigarette, propping her bare feet up on the kitchen table and leaning back into what used to be her mother's chair. Sarah sits and stirs her oatmeal. She tries not to notice the dark red lip liner around her stepmother's mouth, or the yellow soles of her feet smelling faintly like old cheese. Across from her, her father shovels fried eggs into his mouth. He's been unemployed for several weeks now; no one needs construction workers anymore.

"You sure don't say much, do you?" Kim says. She flicks the end of the cigarette butt against her glass, the ashes falling into her orange juice. "When do you get picked up from school?"

Sarah stirs her oatmeal. She doesn't feel like eating.

"Hey," Kim says. "I'm talking to you. When do you get picked up?"

"Now," Sarah says, and she pushes her oatmeal away.

Her father slaps the bowl out of Sarah's hand. Oatmeal spatters all over the table.

"You mind your mother," her father says.

"She's not my mom," Sarah says.

Her father slams his fist against the table.

"Easy," Kim says. She stands and picks up the plate. "She don't wanna talk, that's fine. Don't force her."

Her father glowers.

"Hey, I'll walk her out to the bus stop, get her out of your hair," Kim says. "C'mon."

Sarah stares at her. Kim purses her lips. "I said _come on_," Kim says, and Sarah follows her out the door.

Sarah shifts her backpack on her shoulder and stares at the ground. It's gray outside, wet and rainy. Even just to walk down the street, Kim wears a pair of open-toed stiletto heels, her bathrobe swinging open and free. Sarah notices her bathrobe looks too pink against the overcast sky, and her lips are like a clown's mouth, smeared too red and smudged around the corners. Her toenails are bright red too, a stripper's approximation of beauty.

"Listen," Kim says. "I ain't here to play your momma. You going through a rough time, I get it. But I want us to get along."

Sarah glances up. Kim's face looks even more leathery outside, the shock of blue eyeshadow starting to fade with the drizzle of rain.

"When do you get out from school?" Kim asks.

"3 o'clock," Sarah says.

"Good," Kim says. "After school, we going shopping. You look like shit. Someone needs to show you how to dress."

Kim reaches toward Sarah's face, pushing back her stringy hair. "You'd be really pretty if you knew how," Kim says.

The bus pulls up behind them. Kim pulls back and grins, her lips wide and red.

"See you later, baby doll," Kim says.

Sarah gets on the bus. Self-consciously, she touches her temple, where Kim's hand was. The bus driver closes the door.

.

That afternoon, Kim greets her at the bus stop, red umbrella in hand and brittle blonde hair curling like Medusa's. Sarah's stomach tightens, but she gamely steps off the bus. Kim grins widely and links arms with her, practically skipping down the street.

"We gonna make it a girl's night," Kim says, and despite herself, Sarah gets excited. Sarah's mother never took her out like this. Girl's night to Sarah's mother meant standing in the kitchen, peeling carrots and watching her mother's hands arc across the cutting board, the way her fingers curved over the handle of a knife. Sarah remembers the gleaming metal and the way the sunlight slanted through the kitchen windows, and how sometimes mother stood over the stove and cried into her chicken soup...

Kim was the reason why her mother killed herself. Sarah's eyes burn. _If she thinks she can bribe me for forgiveness, then she's wrong._

.

Kim takes Sarah over to a burger place, sitting in a booth. She orders a chocolate shake and french fries and tells Sarah to order whatever she wants. "I ain't cooking, so you'd better eat now," Kim says. Sarah stares at her plate. Kim watches her, oblivious, her face wrinkling into a smile.

"See, I'm proud of what I used to do," Kim says. She picks up each fry one at a time, her long nails tapping the side of the plate. "Ain't no shame in it. I still be stripping now, if your dad wasn't so fucking jealous."

Sarah watches Kim's mouth, the sinuous way it moves. The wrinkles on her face seem like battle scars.

"You can make a lot of money stripping," Kim says. "I can make a grand on a good night. Fuck, sometimes even more. And where I worked, the drinks were free! Haha! They _always_ be liquoring us up. What I'm saying is, you shouldn't be so uptight. You should know how to _dress_, girl. Sex is _sells_, lemme tell you. It's how you get ahead in the world."

Sarah stares at Kim's chest, how it bounces and heaves when she laughs. Sarah's own breasts are small and shy in comparison. She crosses her arms, hunching over.

"But it ain't enough to have the goods, you gotta have a good stage name," Kim says. "They used to call me Paradise. My friend Bobby, he call himself Moses Santana, and _all_ the bitches want him. Me, I just keep it simple. Paradise. Like, you in hell now boy, but I be showing you _heaven_."

Sarah nods. "Heaven," Sarah says. She watches Kim chew, the flecks of meat sticking to the sides of her mouth.

"I don't think I'd be happy doing that," Sarah says, but the words come out wrong, she can see it in her face.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Kim says. She slams her hamburger back on the plate. "I'm trying to fucking bond here and you're copping me attitude. You wanna know what stripping is? It's fucking _work_, is what it is. It's what's paying for your dinner. Don't be dumping your shit on me, okay? Ain't nothing happened between me and your dad. And I don't give two shits if you don't believe me, neither. I _love_ that man. He be taking care of me. And if you can't fucking handle that, well, it's not my fucking problem."

Sarah stares at her hands. "I want to go home now," she says. Kim purses her lips.

"Fine," Kim says. "But I ain't cooking later."

.

That night, Sarah pulls out her mother's recipe cards. Leaning against the refrigerator, Sarah sits cross-legged on the floor and carefully deals the cards out, spreading them in front of her like solitaire. On each card she can see her mother's handwriting, each word snaking delicately across the page. Sarah stares at them and she swears she can almost feel what her mother was feeling, the stroke of her pen fluttering slightly, indecisively. _Meatloaf_ one card said._Breadcrumbs, tomato sauce_. Her mother didn't measure when she cooked. She just threw the ingredients into the pot, a cooking impromptu. Each card was like a snapshot, and Sarah can almost see her mother shaking salt over the pot, can almost measure in her mind's eye each seasoning, each dash. She stands and opens the fridge, pulling out the can of breadcrumbs Kim bought a few weeks earlier in a half-hearted attempt to cook. In the freezer she pulls out the ground beef; in the pantry she pulls out the onions. The knives feel solid and heavy in her hands, but Sarah knows what to do: she's seen her mother do it countless times. She chops, methodically, mindlessly, and folds the meat over the vegetables just like her mother did.

Her father walks into the kitchen. "What the hell are you doing?" he asks. Kim stands behind him.

Sarah doesn't look up. "I'm cooking meatloaf," she says.

"Your mom's recipe?" her father asks.

Sarah nods. Her father rubs his eyes and scratches his head. "I missed your mom's cooking," he says, finally. "I never got it right. And Kim can't cook for shit, can you, Kim?"

Kim crosses her arms. Sarah concentrates on folding the sauce into the meat, kneading the loaf slowly.

"Lemme know when it's done," her father says. He heads back into the living room, shoulder bumping against Kim, who stands stone-faced at the kitchen door.

Sarah looks up. Kim's face looks older, more shadowed.

"You said you weren't cooking," Sarah says.

"And I ain't," Kim says. "Not when you're little miss Betty Crocker over there." And she turns to leave, her pink bathrobe trailing behind her.


	4. Folie à deux

"It's Gray," Gabriel says. "G-R-A-Y."

The secretary frowns at him and hands him the envelope. It's been two weeks since prom, and the photographer is handing out photographs for pick-up at the school gymnasium. They come in thick manila envelopes, taped shut and bursting at the seams. Gabriel takes his and puts it under his arm, walking back outside.

When he gets home, Gabriel takes the yellow envelope in his hand and shuffles the pictures out: two eight-by-tens, and several wallet-sized copies in long strips. His mother will have to cut them with scissors if she wants to keep them in her pocketbook.

Gabriel takes the pictures and sits on the stoop outside their apartment complex; he's surprised at how good the photographs came out. Looking at the photograph, he sees how the girl's dress shimmers, and her hair falls down in loose curls around her shoulder. Gabriel is standing behind her, smiling wide, his hands pressed around her hips. They're almost like a real couple.

Gabriel's throat tightens, and he shoves the photographs back into the envelope. He doesn't want to be there when his mother looks at them later.

.

"You've always been a special boy," Virginia said, once. To this day, Gabriel doesn't remember what they were talking about, or why, but he remembers his mother's hands, and how they were caked with flour. "I remember the day you were born, you came right out and grabbed the doctor's hand. Squeezed his fingers--what a grip! No other baby could do that. They never saw anything like that before."

"It's a reflex, mom," Gabriel said. His mother ignored him.

"You were strong," his mother said. "Even then, I knew you were special. Not just because you're my son, but because you had that_strength_. An iron will. Even the doctors could tell."

Strength. An iron will. Whenever Gabriel thinks about that moment, he thinks of the absurdity of it all, the cognitive dissonance. His mother talked about strength, and all Gabriel could see was narrow shoulders and delicate wrists, and how his fingers tapered like a woman's.

Then he remembers how his mother crept up behind him and pressed her hands against his chest. "My strong boy," she said. It took all of Gabriel's self-control not to pull away.

.

Girls confuse him. The scent of them, the way they travel in packs. They fall over the jock boys, the guys on the football team. He listens to them babble about college, about graduation, what they'll do when they get out into the world. What they don't know, and what Gabriel secretly does, is that they won't amount to anything. High school is where they'll peak, and they'll forever be looking back at this as the best years of their lives. Pathetic. If Gabriel suffers now, it's only because he's destined for better things. Greater things, things of which they wouldn't even _dream_. He takes solace in this knowledge, wraps it around himself like a warm blanket. They're nothing, he thinks, so why should I care?

He's a shoe-in for Harvard, so he only applies to four schools: Harvard, Princeton, Stanford, and Yale. His transcript is immaculate, and his essays are well-written and precise; not a single word is out of place. The letters of recommendation are somewhat harder to come by.

"You might want to ask someone else," Mrs. Hawkins tells him. "If I write it, I will be forthright. I don't think you're Ivy League material."

"Why?" Gabriel asks.

He watches her face, how her old, thin lips purse before speaking again. "There's a spirit of camaraderie, which you do not possess," Mrs. Hawkins says. "I'm sorry, Gabriel, but to be honest, you haven't made very many friends with the faculty. You'll be hard-pressed to find someone who will vouch on your behalf."

All of the teachers refuse. Gabriel's mind reels. He doesn't see any reason why they should treat him like this. Half of the time, they don't even know what they're teaching; when they tell his mother that he's arrogant, that he doesn't even listen in class, his mother waves her hand dismissively. "They're just jealous, they don't have your talent," Virginia says. "They're teaching schoolchildren for a living, and look at you! You'll probably be walking on the moon!"

Out of desperation, Gabriel asks his gym teacher, Mr. Delores. Mr. Delores is old and paunchy and has a voice like gravel. But Mr. Delores was also kind, letting Gabriel sit on the sidelines while the other boys did suicide sprints on the grass.

"You rubbed them all wrong, I bet," Mr. Delores says, and he takes the application from Gabriel's hand. "They don't know you the way I do. They don't get that you're overcompensating."

"Overcompensating?" Gabriel stares at him. "I'm not overcompensating for anything, they're just ignorant."

"I heard you took Becky Martin to the prom," Mr. Delores says, quietly. "How did that go?"

Gabriel looks away. Mr. Delores touches his arm.

"Gabriel, you're all bark and no bite. And they're just too dumb to realize that. They're just as self-conscious and insecure as you are, and you constantly undermine their authority. You're smart--real smart--but you just don't know when to shut up." He pulls out his reading glasses and squints into the page. "It says here I have to rank your integrity and honesty on a scale of one to ten," Mr. Delores says. He takes his glasses off and pushes the paper back to Gabriel. "I tell you what," he says. "Why don't you fill it out, and I'll sign it for you? How about that?"

"You talked about integrity, and now you're offering to let me fill out my own evaluation?" Gabriel says.

"Nothing on here says I have to be the one to circle the numbers," Mr. Delores says.

"And what about the letter?" Gabriel asks.

Mr. Delores shrugs. "Well why don't you write that, too? I'll sign it. You know your strengths better than I do."

Gabriel leaves his office. When he steps out of the hallway, he catches the faintest whisper of perfume hanging in the air.

He sends the applications in, and to no one's surprise, Gabriel gets interviews to all four of the schools. And again, to no one's surprise, Gabriel manages to screw things up. He's too intense, too serious. The interviewers crack jokes and Gabriel misses the punchlines. They shake his hand and leave. The rejection letters start coming in the mail.

"Mom, there's something I have to tell you," Gabriel says.

Virginia looks up, the grey pewter light catching her face. "What?" she asks. She wipes her hands on her shirt dress.

"I didn't get into Harvard," Gabriel says.

His mother's brow furrows. "What do you mean, you didn't get in?"

"I got rejected," Gabriel says. He shows her the form letter. Virginia snatches it from his hands.

"How could you not get in Harvard? You're top of your class," Virginia says.

"I don't know," Gabriel says.

"Well what about Princeton? Have you heard from them?"

"I was waitlisted," Gabriel says. Virginia frowns.

"I don't understand," she says. "You have all A's. Your SAT scores are in the 99th percentile..."

"Maybe I wasn't good enough," Gabriel says.

"Nonsense! Of course you're good enough," Virginia says.

"No, I'm _not_," Gabriel says. "Guys at Harvard and Stanford and Yale want popular kids, guys with lots of friends who played on the football team or did research or did volunteer work in Africa. I didn't do anything. I wasn't even on the chess team."

"Gabriel that's ridiculous," Virginia says. "There's probably a misunderstanding."

"They hated me when they interviewed me," Gabriel says.

"How could anyone hate you? You're too bright for that," Virginia says. "This is just a setback. We'll learn from our mistakes. You didn't apply to enough schools, that's all. If you don't get into Harvard, we'll apply next year, and we'll apply to more colleges. Don't you worry. It'll work out, I promise."

She presses his face in her hands. "It's a blessing in disguise," Virginia says. "At least now you won't be far from home."

Gabriel runs out of the apartment. Blindly, he stumbles his way back to school and onto the football field. Daylight is already starting to fade, and the football team does calisthenics under the stadium lights. Mr. Delores isn't there. Gabriel rushes inside the building. He's not in his office. He hears talking in the teacher's lounge and he follows the voices echoing in the hallway.

"He's had it rough, you shouldn't be so hard on him." Mr. Delores' voice boomed, sharp gravel scratching on black chalkboard. "He's awkward and self-conscious and he compensates by pretending he's better than everyone else. You just don't mess with kids like that. It's people like him that go postal. You don't want to put him in a corner."

"His mother is a lunatic," Mrs. Hawkins says. "It's classic _folie a deux_, shared psychoses. Neither of them are quite right in the head. I feared for my safety, I really did."

Gabriel can't breathe. He feels his chest collapse on itself. He can hear the laughter in the teacher's lounge, and Mr. Delores' voice booming like thunder. Gabriel wants to throw the door open, wants to stand and shout and throw the furniture on the ground. But he doesn't, he sinks to the ground instead. And when Mr. Delores opens the door, he sees Gabriel leaning up against the lockers, curled up into himself and shaking like a child.

Gabriel thinks back to the conversation he had with his mother, about how strong he was, and how he gripped the doctor's hand when he was born. "There's simply no one there to nurture your talent," his mother said, and she fluffed his hair. "People don't understand because they're ignorant. But not my boy. My boy will grow up to be something. A flower among weeds has to be strong. Has to fight for the sunshine and for the soil around him. Roses are delicate, but people don't see them for the thorns." Gabriel protested, "I'm not a flower, mom," and his mother hugged him, tight. "You're right," she said. "You're my son."

Now Gabriel stands and stares at Mr. Delores, and he sees the wrinkles in his face look deeper under the fluorescent lights of the hallway. There's sorrow in his eyes, but Gabriel can't tell if it's a trick of light, or if it's genuine. They stare at each other for what seems like years before Mr. Delores steps around him and walks outside.


	5. Hate the Girl

Despite all her best efforts, Kim finds herself starting to hate the girl.

Every day, Sarah will schlep out of her room and into the kitchen, waking early to cook the eggs or wash the dishes. "Sarah, for fuck's sake, it's Saturday," Kim would say. Or she would swipe at the girl's hair, looking at her with thinly masked distaste. "You need to stop washing it so much." But what Kim really hates is the way Frank gawks at her, drunk and stupid and full of nostalgia. "God, she looks like her mother," Frank would say, and Kim would bristle angrily. Sometimes, Frank would follow Sarah around from room to room while the girl would try to ignore him. Kim would watch as Frank would sit heavily on the girl's bed, the space between himself and the girl uncomfortably close. The girl would sit rigidly, her hands in her lap, while Frank mumbled incoherent apologies while touching the girl's hair.

Kim also notices that even though the girl avoids Frank when he's drunk, she would come and sit next to him when he's sober, showing him report cards and little marks of achievement. "Look what I made today," Sarah says, and she shows him a little charm bracelet she knotted together that afternoon.

Frank takes the beads from her hand. "Hey Kim, look at this," Frank says. "Sarah's a regular artist. Wow. She's just like her mother."

Sarah beams. Kim crosses her arms.

"If you have time to do crap like that, you have time to clean the kitchen," Kim says.

"For chrissakes Kim, leave the kid alone," Frank says. He motions for Sarah to sit next to him, and pats her on the head.

Kim bristles. She can't decide if she likes Frank better when he's drunk or when he's sober.

.

"You should learn how to cook," Frank says one day, and Kim feels her face start to harden.

"Why?" Kim asks. "Sarah's already cooking, why should I have to cook?"

"A woman's place is in the kitchen, not in front of a fucking mirror," Frank says. "Fucking slut. You're nothing like Bea. _Nothing_. That woman cooked blood, sweat, and tears, and you're sitting there like a fucking princess."

"Oh, and what are you? Some sort of saint or something?" Kim says. "She's _dead_, Frank. And maybe you forgot, but you weren't so happy when you were together, either. Remember how we met?"

The girl walks into the room. Her big brown eyes widen slightly.

"What do you want?" Kim snaps.

The girl shrinks back. "I was going to turn off the oven," the girl says. "Sorry." She slinks past them, turning the oven off and running back into the living room.

Kim looks back at Frank, who's staring at the girl like he's seen a ghost.

"You're pathetic," Kim says softly, and she leans forward. "Fucking _pathetic_."

Frank smashes his fist against Kim's face. Kim staggers backward, her lower lip bleeding.

"Don't you _ever_ talk to me like that," Frank says. "I'll kill you, swear to God."

He stands and leaves, slamming the door shut.

.

She touches Sarah's hair. "Let me show you how to straighten it," Kim says, and she pulls out the flat iron in the bathroom. "All the boys like straight hair."

The girl sits in front of her, her shoulders rounded slightly. Kim remembers the picture Frank keeps in his wallet, the one of Bea before she hung herself, and it unnerves her just how much the girl really does look like her. _Fuck that shit_, Kim thinks. _She's gonna look like me_.

"I straighten my hair every day," Kim says, and she flips her own hair back. "Men love straight hair. They love to touch it. And when you dance on the pole, lemme tell you. It gets you _tips_. A moneymaker."

Kim can smell the stench of burning hair, can see the smoke rising from the metal plates. If Sarah looks like Bea now, Kim will make sure that's not true later. Kim burns away Bea's curls, replacing them with straight hair like her own.

"There. Beautiful," Kim says.

Sarah touches her head uncertainly.

"Here," Kim says. "Lemme do your makeup." She uncaps a tube of lipstick and holds it to Sarah's mouth. "You would look really good with blonde hair, you know that?" Kim says. "You have such a nice complexion. I could dye your hair for you, if you want."

"That's okay," Sarah says. Lipstick smudges the corner of her mouth.

"No, really," Kim says. "I could do it right now. I have the dye right here."

Sarah plays with her sleeves.

"What is it?" Kim asks. "Come on, look at me. What's the problem?"

"It's just...I don't think I'd look really good with dyed hair," Sarah says.

Kim bristles. "What, you too good for that or something?"

"No," Sarah says. "No, it's just--"

"You don't wanna look like a little hooker, is that it?" Kim asks.

"I'm sorry," Sarah says, softly.

"You damn _right_, you should be sorry!" Kim says. "I'm trying to fucking bond, here. And you're not even grateful."

"Kim!" Kim whirls around to see Frank standing at the doorway. He's drunk again, swirling the beer bottle in his hand.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he asks.

"I'm doing her hair, what's it look like?" Kim says.

"Sarah, take that shit off," Frank says. He glares at Kim. "You wanna make her a little slut, too?"

"I ain't no slut," Kim says.

"Coulda fooled me," Frank says. He takes a swig of beer, wipes his mouth with the side of his arm.

.

"People make mistakes," Frank says. He's drunk and he's swilling beer again, leaning heavily against the sofa. "It happens all the time. And you can be sorry and sorry and sorry even more, but it's not gonna change nothin. All it does is make you feel like shit."

Kim watches him warily. She tries to remember when it started getting worse, when Frank started looking at Kim and wishing she were someone else.

"I'm fucking tearing down that barn," Frank says. "I don't know why the fuck I haven't earlier. Too many bad memories. Bea didn't even like the barn, and she went in there anyway. Oh, Bea..."

And he starts to blubber uncontrollably. Kim looks at him, anger rising at the back of her throat.

"You're drunk," Kim says. "You're a fucking mess."

"Yeah I'm drunk, so what?" Frank asks. "You got a roof over your head. You got a house. Fucking slut. You got your claws right into me."

Kim glances over at Sarah, who's doing her homework at the kitchen table. Her hair falls over her face in large curls, and her large eyes squint slightly.

"Hey, do you mind?" Kim asks.

Sarah looks up. The light falls on her face and her skin seems to glow. Kim's jaw tightens. "We're trying to have a conversation," Kim says, and motions for Sarah to leave.

Sarah packs up her books slowly--too slowly for Kim's comfort.

"Sarah, come here," Frank says. And Sarah does, cautiously siting next to him. "Sit, sit closer."

Kim watches as Frank sits her next to him, grabbing the girl's chin between his thumb and index finger. "You look just like your mom," Frank says. The girl jerks away.

"Hey!" Frank says. "Hey, I'm_talking_ to you!"

"Christ, Frank, leave her alone," Kim says.

Frank's head swivels toward her, his eyes bleary and unfocused. "What do you care? You hate her," he says. He turns to Sarah. "Bea, come here."

"Dad?"

Kim snorts. "He's wasted," Kim says, derisively.

Frank's head hangs loosely on his shoulders. "Bea, Bea lemme tell you something."

"It's Sarah," Sarah says. "Dad, my name's Sarah."

"Bea, don't you fucking _lie_ to me!" Frank slams his beer against the table. "Come here!"

"Frank! Jesus, that's your daughter!" Kim says.

Frank lurches off the couch, stumbling forward. "You slut," he says. "You're the reason why she left!"

"Frank, sit down!" Kim says.

"Bea!" Frank says. He staggers toward Sarah. "_Bea_!!"

"_Frank_, sit the_ fuck_ down!" Kim says.

"You're so beautiful, Bea," Frank says. Sarah shrieks but he holds her down, crushes her in his arms.

"Frank!" Kim says. She grabs his arm. "_Frank_!"

Frank collapses on himself, sobbing. "Oh Bea, I'm so sorry," he says.

"Shit," Kim says.

Sarah stands in the corner, face pale and shaking. Kim glares at her.

"Go to your room," Kim says.

Sarah doesn't move.

"Go to your _room_!" Kim says.

Sarah grabs her bags and runs, slamming the door behind her.

Kim turns, sees Frank staring at her. "Why did you do that?" he says. "You made her run away! She's my wife, goddammit! And you made her run away!"

"You're drunk, Frank," Kim says. "Bea's _dead_. The funeral was five months ago."

Frank stares at her, and for a moment Kim's sure he's going to hit her. But then his face crumbles, and he sits heavily on the couch.

"Oh, Bea," he says, and greasy tears roll down his face. "Bea, Bea, Bea..."

She leaves Frank in the living room and closes the bedroom door. But Frank staggers after her, drunk and angry. He throws the door open.

They start to fight.


	6. Two Fights

"What? You want to tell me more of your bedtime stories? Tell me how I'm special and perfect and will do something _important_ with the world?"

Gabriel rushes to the mantle.

"And prom? These pictures?" He shoves the pictures in Virginia's face. "These are _fake_, mom. She doesn't even like me. She only did it because her mom was making her!"

"That can't be true," Virginia says.

"It _is_ true!" Gabriel says. "None of this is real. None of it! I'm nothing, I'm nobody. Your son is a fucking _failure_."

.

Sarah sits in her room and curls up into herself. She can hear her stepmother screaming, her father shouting.

"You're _obsessed_!" Kim says. "You don't give a shit about me, you just want your dead wife back!"

She hears broken glass shattering on the floor, things being turned over. Sarah winces. She hears the voices rise, then fall, then rise again. Then she hears her father's footsteps, hears the door slam. She hears her stepmother chasing after him.

.

"I hate you!" Gabriel says. "Nothing I do is good enough, you have to make me into something I'm not!"

"That's not true!" Virginia says.

"What if I don't even _want_ to go to college? What would you do then?"

"I just want the best for my son!" Virginia says.

"Well what if it's not what _I_ want?" Gabriel asks. "What if what I want is just to be a watchmaker? What are you going to do? What are you going to do _then_?"

.

"Frank! Jesus Christ, come back!" Kim says.

"Get away from me," Frank says.

"Frank! Frank!"

"I said get _away_!" Frank shoves Kim against the house.

.

The picture frame shatters on the ground.

.

Tires squeal on pavement.

.

Virginia starts to cry.

.

.

.

Hours pass. Neither Gabriel nor Sarah moves.

It should be raining, but it's not. So far everything that has happened in Sarah's life has happened in the rain; her mother's suicide attempt, her mother's death. The coming of her stepmother, and her half-hearted attempts at bonding. But tonight it doesn't rain, the sky is perfectly clear. Sarah looks out the window and sees nothing but endless dark, the cloud-cover hiding the stars.

Sarah stands by her bedroom window, where she can see Kim standing on the dirt path, dark and terrible and silhouetted by moonlight. It's times like these that Sarah loses all sense of herself, when her twilit shadow seems to fade with the coming night and the whole of her body seems to be nothing more than a reflection on a pane of glass.

Her stepmother opens the bedroom door. "He left," she says. Her eyes are red and her lips are twisted. "He left because of_you_."

Her stepmother's hair falls in stringy pieces; gobs of mascara run down her face. Sarah stares at her, dumbstruck. They stare at each other for a long time before her stepmother turns away and closes the door.

In Queens, Gabriel stands over the bathroom sink, scrubbing his hands with hot water. There's violence in the act of scrubbing, his hands raw and wet and dirty and trembling. He sits heavily on the edge of the bathtub, clasping his head with soapy hands. He made his mother cry. He hates himself. He clutches his father's razor and holds it like a crucifix, imagining himself dragging it across his arm. But he doesn't, he sets it down on the floor instead. Above him, a picture of the Virgin Mary smiles serenely, illuminated and darkening again by the lightening outside.

In Utah, Sarah curls up on her side and cries, hugging herself tightly. In Queens, Gabriel stares at the ceiling and tries to forget. If they weren't so far away, if they knew each other right now, Sarah would climb through Gabriel's window and cry against his chest, and both would take comfort in feeling not so alone.


	7. Bridge

"I'm gonna have to start stripping again. I ain't got no choice."

It's morning, and Sarah pushes her oatmeal with her spoon. Her eyes are red and puffy from crying, and she hunches over the table, like a hungover drunk who's ready for sleep. Across from her, her stepmother chain smokes "Black and Miles" and bounces her leg, her un-straightened hair frizzy and disheveled.

"He ain't been working for months, and he be living off my savings. I ain't got nothing left. I need to make some money, but fuck, I'm too old." Her stepmother inhales deeply, then crushes her cigarette out on her plate. Sarah watches the smoke rise, deep and dark and swirling up into her nostrils.

"He'll come back," Sarah says. She stares at her oatmeal. "He always comes back."

"And what if he don't?" her stepmother says. "Who's gonna raise you? Who's gonna do that shit? Me! That's who. And you fucking look too much like her. That's why he left. He can't leave them ghosts behind. Every time he turn around, he sees you staring back. You_drove_ him away!" her stepmother says.

Sarah's eyes well up. She pushes her oatmeal harder, making levies by the sides of her bowl.

"Hey!" Kim says.

Sarah looks up. Her stepmother stares at her, her face stretched and pale, her mouth painted bright red like a gaping hole.

"You don't get to cry," her stepmother says. Her voice, cigarette-smoke deep, is stretched and thin. "You don't get to cry. He left me, too."

.

Her stepmother pawns her mother's wedding ring, the one her father gave her barely a month ago. Kim takes the cash and folds it into her pocket; Sarah's eyes burn, staring at the thick bulge on the side of Kim's hip before glancing back toward the shop. She sees the shopkeeper displaying her mother's ring at the window, nestled in black velvet. The diamond twinkles brightly, and Sarah thinks of how her mother's eyes crinkled in the corners when she smiled.

"This gonna buy you dinner," her stepmother says. "And you gonna be doing the cooking, not me. You hear that?"

Sarah nods, dumbly. She sees the "For Sale" sign put up by the window.

.

Sarah stops going to class; she squats in the parking lot instead, leaning back against the red brick building and watching the cars drive by. Sometimes a teacher or a school counselor will see her and will walk her to their office, worried looks on their faces. Sometimes they will talk to her sincerely about grief and loss and ask her how she's coping; they'll tell her stories of their own fractured childhoods, reliving painful memories and spilling their guts, despite the fact that Sarah barely pays attention. Today it's Mr. Johnson, a new grad who's fresh and enthusiastic and full of ideas, and Sarah finds herself the focus of his unflagging idealism.

"Do you know what you want to do when you graduate?" Mr. Johnson asks.

"No," Sarah says.

"Have you thought about going to college? You're such a bright girl--you don't want to pass this opportunity up."

Sarah chews her thumbnail. Mr. Johnson frowns.

"What's that bruise from?" Mr. Johnson asks. He points to the bruise around Sarah's arm.

"I fell down the stairs," Sarah says.

"They look like hand prints, are you sure?" Mr. Johnson asks.

Sarah shrugs and shifts in her seat. There's nothing Mr. Johnson can do but write her a hall pass and a note excusing her absences. Sarah takes the note and the hall pass, carefully folding them in her pocket. She doesn't bother to take them out when she throws her pants into the laundry at home.

.

Her stepmother wrenches her back working on the pole, and suddenly she can't strip anymore. Without health insurance, Sarah's stepmother pockets Xanax from her friends and tries to perform through the pain; it doesn't work, and Sarah sees her shuffling around the house, her back stooped and her face twisted. She gets a job in retail but she's fired for showing up drunk on the job. No one will hire her.

"Shit!" her stepmother says. "How the _fuck_ am I supposed to work now?"

Sarah cuts class and gets a job as a hostess, but it makes her stepmother angry. "You think you can work, maybe I outta toss you out too," her stepmother says. Weeks turn to months, and creditors start calling.

Every morning, Sarah watches her stepmother pop a Xanax with her coffee, sitting with the classifieds and circling advertisements with a red pen. And when the men start coming, Sarah pretends not to hear. They come at three, four o'clock in the morning, the soft footfall of feet on gravel. And sometimes, just behind the wall that separates Sarah's bedroom from her stepmother's, Sarah can hear the creak of bedsprings and the slick, wet sounds of a professional plying her craft.

"They's my new boyfriends," her stepmother says. She's drunk and high on Xanax, her pupils black and constricted. Sarah keeps scrubbing the floor. She concentrates on the feel of the sponge in her hand, the slight sting of floor cleaner and soap between the creases of her fingers.

"Hey!" her stepmother says. "You listening?"

Sarah scrubs harder, strands of hair falling on her face.

"You little bitch," her stepmother says. "You looking down on me. I can see it."

"No," Sarah says. Her stepmother kicks the bucket over. Sarah jumps. Sudsy water puddles around the floor.

Her stepmother stares at her. "Clean that up," she says. She flicks her cigarette butt into the water and walks back to the living room.

.

Sarah loses her virginity to the boy next door.

His name is George, and he's the son of a farmer. He talks to her and Sarah delights in having a friend. It's a Tuesday night, and they sit behind the bleachers by the baseball field. When he kisses her, it's wet and sloppy, and Sarah tries not to gag. But he puts his arm around her and she decides it's nice, she likes being held. He holds her hand and leads her to the back of his car, and promises to show her all the secrets of the world.

When he rips inside her, Sarah tries hard not to cry. She sees the shock on his face, but he can't stop himself. Worry turns to lust and he's jackhammering inside her, and it hurts so bad that Sarah starts to cry. He finishes quickly and rolls off of her.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry, I didn't know," he says. Sarah stares at the roof of the car; she worries about the blood staining the car seat.

"I want to go home," Sarah says. George nods and takes out his keys.

Wednesday morning, George avoids her eyes. Sarah pretends not to care and cuts class to sit by the bleachers; this time she's by herself.

.

Four years pass. It feels like four millennia. It would be the last time Sarah sees Kim alive.

.

Kim had come home drunk and angry, and they had a fight. Even now, Sarah can't remember what about--something about cleaning, something about her father...

"I wish you'd just die!" Sarah said, and Kim slammed the bedroom door before taking out her pills: she took her Xanax with vodka, and when she passed out, her cigarette butt fell on the puddle of alcohol pooling around her feet.

The fire was swift; trapped in the bedroom, Sarah called 911, and the fireman whisked her outside before the house collapsed on itself; there was nothing the firemen can do. An ambulance came but Sarah turned and walked the other direction; nobody saw her leave, and no one missed her when she wasn't there...

Her house burned and Sarah walked away, a black silhouette against the rising smoke. And when the car stopped and the driver asked her where she was headed, Sarah spoke without thinking, her voice rolling out of her like thunder.

She told him she's headed west. She has no reason to stay.


	8. Part II: His First Time

**Part II**

.

Outside the shop, Gabriel unlocks the door but doesn't turn on the lights, shrugging off his coat and tossing it carelessly on the bench in the corner. He doesn't stop in the workroom, instead continuing walking in the darkness, taking the staircase to the upper floor where he stores the old collectibles that haven't been repaired yet. There's a wedge of light cutting through the darkness, and he can see the fine granulations of dust floating in the air.

Every morning, he picks out a timepiece to work on, something to pass the time while waiting for customers or for five o'clock to roll by. Today it's an antique cuckoo clock he got from a flea market in the West Village. Reverently, he carries it downstairs and gently places it on his workbench, spreading out his tools before putting on his eye loupes. He opens the panel, and he imagines it's much the same as undressing a woman, exposing her imperfections for all the world to see.

The clock's not broken, it's just dirty; the previous owner had squirted oil in the wrong place, in the wrong amounts. It made a corrosive paste, and the gear teeth are worn. Whoever tried to repair it dunk the whole thing in cleaning fluid without even checking the mainsprings. Gabriel frowns. Carefully, he disassembles everything, the gears, the springs, the bearings on the clock plate. His fingers move swiftly, reaching in and gutting the insides. It's a timepiece unskinned, naked and delicate. And when he fixes it, the timepiece winks, the little wooden bird singing in his ears. _This is what it's like to be broken_, he thinks, tightening the screws. _This is what it's like to be fixed again._

.

The girl Gabriel's dating is a sweet little thing, someone his mother hand-picked from church. She's Irish, and a spattering of freckles dance on her cheeks. Gabriel can see the freckles on her chest too, and he wonders briefly about her breasts and her stomach and everything else beneath. She tells him she's a virgin, but she'd like that to change. She holds his hand when she says it, and when she squeezes his fingers, he nearly comes right there.

"So can I see it?" she asks. She won't look at him.

"Now?" he asks. She nods, still keeping her eyes down.

"Yeah," she says. "I've never seen a real one before."

He feels himself blush; in the dark, he wonders briefly if she's blushing, too.

"Okay," he says. He doesn't move.

"Okay," she says. "I hope you don't mind—"

"—no "

"It's just that I really like you," she finishes with conviction, "and I'd like to see you."

A car squeals; they sit awkwardly in the dark.

"Do you want me to do it?" he asks, "or are you . . ." he gestures helplessly.

She shakes her head, her eyes briefly flicking upward. "I think you'd better do it," she says.

He nods again and reaches for his belt buckle.

His hands clumsily unloop the leather strip, his fingers like sausages trying to unhook the metal clasp. He's moving too fast; she reaches out and grasps his hand.

"It's okay," she says. "Take your time."

He nods slowly and takes a deep breath. She drops his hand so he can unbutton the top of his khakis. He swallows hard and quickly tugs his pants down from his hips and to his knees. There is an awful pause as they both stare in horror at his boy's briefs and the naked whiteness of his thighs.

"If I had known, I would have worn boxers," he says.

"Are you okay?" she asks. He gingerly fingers the waistband.

"Yeah," he says.

"Because we don't have to if—"

"I want to," he says. He closes his eyes as he slowly peels back the white fabric. His erection gently swells up and out, gracefully unfolding from the arc of his body. She's mesmerized by it, her lips part just a little.

"What does it look like when it's not erect?" she asks.

He stares at the ground. "It's kind of small," he says. "It just looks bigger when it's like this."

"Can I touch it?" she asks. He swallows and nods. His stomach tightens when she grazes his skin with her fingertips.

"Take off your shirt," she says.

Wordlessly, he pulls his shirt over his head and sits there, naked except for the pants around his knees. He kicks his pants off while she pulls off her own shirt and unclasps her bra.

"I've never seen a naked girl before," he says.

"I'm not naked, I'm still wearing pants," she says.

"Can I kiss you?" he asks.

"Now?" she asks.

"Yeah."

"Yeah," she says. "Okay."

He clumsily pivots toward her, self-consciously angling his torso so that their bodies won't touch. He strains toward her, catching her lips as she leans forward, tugging off her pants. They're both naked now, he's breathing harder, his breath pulsing against the skin of her cheek. He feels the dampness of her skin, and he sees the freckles splaying the tops of her breasts, which are milk white and almost translucent. The edge of his glasses dig into her forehead. "We have to stop," he says. "I don't think I can control myself."

"No, don't," she says, and she grabs his penis in her hand. His eyes widen when she brings out a condom seemingly out of nowhere; she rolls it on fast, before crawling forward and pushing herself into him.

Gabriel pushes. Her eyes clench shut and she draws in a sharp breath. Gabriel pushes again. She cries out, "OW!"

"Maybe this isn't a good idea," Gabriel says. His penis already starts to wilt. "Maybe we should stop."

"No," she says, and she pulls him toward her. He can feel her tighten. He knows it hurts, but she keeps pulling him down until soon enough, instinct takes over. Mindlessly, he starts pumping and he feels the tension build up inside of him. He comes without warning, his penis twitching pathetically inside of her.

The stunned look on her face knifes through him, and he feels a wave of self-disgust. He rolls off of her and tries to pull her close, but she flinches away. He realizes he's still wearing his glasses.

He retreats to the corner of the room, gingerly picking his clothes up. Neither of them speaks. He dresses quickly, yanking his shirt over his head. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and he sees the angry red crease across his stomach where the waistband had dug into his skin.

When he gets home, he calls her to see if she's okay; she doesn't pick up. Days turn to weeks turn to months, and finally he walks by her apartment to see how she's doing. Just as he's about to knock on her door, he sees her walking up the street, arms linked with another man. Gabriel's face burns. He turns and walks away.

.

He stands up in the train where he has been sitting and looks out of the door windows, waiting for the doors to slide open. He senses the shift in weather, the slight gust of wind as he sees the people around him hunched over with their collars turned up. The doors slide open and he turns and moves through the crowd, walking out into the platform and upstairs to the street. Under his arm, he has his newest possession: a German clock he found from an antiques dealer in New Jersey. The wood is cracked and the varnish is peeling, but with a little work, Gabriel knows he can make it beautiful.

Gabriel puts on his eye loupes, and he lays the timepiece reverently on his workbench. His fingers trace the burnished patterns in the wood, and he imagines it quivering under his hands. Outside, he can hear a woman laughing; he looks up and sees a couple walking by his shop window. The woman is laughing and her head is thrown back; the man is holding her around the waist. To his annoyance, they walk inside. Gabriel's jaw tightens. He turns back to the clock.

_"I think we made a mistake," she said, and she covered herself with a pillow. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have forced you."_

The timepiece is hideous; Gabriel doesn't know what the hell he was thinking. He pushes it aside and takes off his eye loupes.

"Excuse me?"

Gabriel looks up to see the man standing in front of him, his girlfriend or whoever-she-is in tow. "Is this for sale?"

The man gestures to the cuckoo clock hanging behind Gabriel's bench.

"It's a showpiece," Gabriel says. "I only repair timepieces, I don't sell them." Which is a lie, but Gabriel doesn't want to give the man the satisfaction.

Gabriel turns away and bends his head forward, staring at the clock. From the corner of his eye, he sees the man standing expectantly, waiting for Gabriel to further acknowledge him. Gabriel doesn't; Gabriel takes out his tools and starts working on the clock. The man frowns and the girlfriend tugs on his arm. They turn and leave, the door shutting softly behind them.


	9. My Name is Eden

They drive down the desert highway at a leisurely pace, the night giving way to orange streaks of sunrise just over the horizon. Sarah leans against the open car window and her hair whips about her face. In the passenger mirror, she looks tired and grimy and older than she really is. Beside her, the man drives without saying a word. He's about her age, or maybe a few years older, with soft blonde hairs on his arms and a smattering of peach fuzz on his upper lip. His hands on the steering wheel are soft like a boy's hands, and his lips are full and pink. She can't see his eyes, though: his eyes are hidden by the dark gray hoodie pulled over his head.

He said his name was Bobby. That was all Sarah needed to know.

The car is messy; old fast food wrappers and soda cans roll around on the floor, and in the backseat are old newspapers and a few books. Hold outs from community college. Sarah stretches and kicks her legs out, tapping against an empty water bottle that had rolled its way out from under her seat.

"Do you smoke?" Bobby asks.

"What?"

"Do you smoke?" Bobby asks again. He offers her a cigarette. Sarah shakes her head.

"Suit yourself," Bobby says, and he lights the cigarette in his mouth. He inhales deeply and blows out a thick stream of smoke. It makes Sarah's eyes water. Bobby rolls down the window and taps the end of the cigarette, the ashes falling onto the road.

"How old are you?" Bobby asks.

"Eighteen," Sarah says. "I just turned last month."

"And how come you're going to LA?" he asks.

"I want to be an actress," Sarah says. It's a lie, but she's surprised at how true it sounds.

"An actress," Bobby muses. "Now why would you want to go and do something like that?"

"I dunno, I guess I don't have anything to lose," Sarah says. And it's true, in a way, she really does have nothing to lose. But the idea of becoming an actress appeals to her, and she runs with it. The idea is romantic--coming out of nothing and becoming something. A movie star. Someone important. Sarah flushes with pride.

"What about you?" she asks.

"What about me?" Bobby asks.

"Why are you headed to LA. You don't want to become an actor, do you?"

"Not an actor: a stunt double," Bobby says. "My friends tell me I look just like Leonardo DiCaprio. I could do stunt doubling for him."

Sarah glances back at Bobby. She decides he does _not_ look like Leonardo DiCaprio.

"I have three black belts," Bobby says. "Martial arts, that's the hot thing right now. If you're good in martial arts, you're gold in Hollywood. You can learn anything because you've got that _foundation_. Sword fighting; stunt fighting; falling. There's a whole technique to falling without hurting yourself--you can't just throw yourself off a building and expect to jump on a nice soft mattress. No, it's fucking _boxes_, man. And those hurt."

"And I take it your dad doesn't approve?"

"He didn't want me to go," Bobby says. "But you gotta follow your dreams, you know? You can't just live in other people's shadow."

"Yeah," Sarah says. She looks back out the window and at the long, flat planes of sand stretching out to the horizon.

"Do you know where you're gonna stay?" Bobby asks. "I mean--I don't mean to pry, but you don't even have luggage with you. Do you even have any money?"

"I can get a job," Sarah says.

"Yeah, but where will you live? What are you gonna do when you get there? You can't even wait tables without references; what are you gonna do?"

I don't know, Sarah thinks. She thinks back to her stepmother and the desperation in her eyes.

"You should stay with me," Bobby says. "I know a guy who knows a guy; he can set us up, and we can find a place. We can even split the rent--you know how expensive it is, living out there? It's better if we team up. You can be my sidekick. Like Matt Damon and Ben Affleck. We'll make it big together."

"I don't even know you," Sarah says.

"You know I'm nice; and I have three black belts," Bobby says.

"Yeah but you could be lying," Sarah says.

"I'm not," Bobby says.

"Yeah well how did you get that cut on your mouth?" Sarah says. "If you had a black belt, why didn't you defend yourself."

Bobby's face darkens. "Sometimes you just have to let them win," he says. It's like a splash of cold water, something that shocks Sarah back into the present. Like getting kicked in the gut by a steel-toed boot of a drunken father, or seeing the broken veins of a woman who had leaped headfirst into oblivion.

"Yeah," Sarah says. She knows what he means.

There is nothing left of her; her past peels off her shoulders and flakes away like dust giving way to a second skin. She wants to stop knowing, stop remembering, stop pretending like she has these last four years. She can't stop staring at his wet blonde hair and his dirt-streaked face and at the small cut by the corner of his mouth. "My old man," Bobby explained, and that was enough. Sarah knows that she can trust him.

Now she sits in the car and stares out the window with hooded eyes. She doesn't know what to do. The car speeds down the highway toward something inevitable: Los Angeles, the City of Angels. It burns in her mind like a beacon, a lighthouse beam cutting through the dark and showing her the shore. She thinks of the spotlights on the stage, and how Kim worked the pole on Saturday nights. She pushes the memory out of her mind, and it dissolves away like sand.

"I just realized I don't know your name," Bobby says.

Her foot kicks a book. Steinbeck's _East of Eden_. Sarah shifts in her seat uncomfortably.

"Hello? You awake?"

"Eden," Sarah says.

"Hmm?"

"My name," Sarah says. "It's Eden."

"Eden. Like Adam and Eve," Bobby says.

"Something like that."

"Wow," Bobby says. "That's so cool--you don't even have to come up with a stage name. You have one, built right in!"

Sarah stares at her pale reflection on the passenger window and at the streaking of telephone poles in the distance. _Eden. Eden what? Eden Ellis? No..._ Her mind gropes for something familiar, at soft hands and crinkled eyes. _McCain_. Her mother's maiden name, Irish just like her father's.

Eden McCain.

It sounds like it could be true. She touches her face, watches her eyes in the rear view mirror. _Yes_, she thinks. _It definitely does_.

"You know what would be a cool stage name?" Bobby asks. "Leo. That would be a cool stage name. Except that Leonardo DiCaprio already has it, so it's already taken. You're so lucky to have a cool name. You can't do anything with 'Bobby.' I mean, if you call me 'Robert,' it's like I'm an English dude waiting tables; and if you call me 'Rob,' that's too surfer. And 'Bob' is just too old."

"Well what about your middle name?" Eden asks. (She makes an effort to stay in character. Eden, not Sarah. Eden, Eden).

"You'll never believe me if I told you," Bobby says.

"Try me," Sarah says.

"Westley," Bobby says.

"Get out," Sarah says.

"Robert Westley Smith," Bobby says. "It's a name for a doctor or lawyer or something. If I wanna be a stunt double, I need to find something tougher. Like Spike or Killer or something."

"Those sound like dog names," Sarah says.

"Yeah, but it's reinvention. That's what you have to do in this town if you wanna make it ahead," Bobby says. "You gotta find your angle, and you gotta stick to it. Otherwise you're gonna get swallowed up by the crowd. You need to find a way to stand out, don't be part of the herd."

_Part of the herd_. It makes Sarah smile. In her mind, she imagines LA as a huge savannah, a desert paradise where starlets on the rise graze like gazelles on the open grass.

"I wanna be a lion," Sarah says, softly. "I don't want to be part of the herd."

"But you're not," Bobby says. "You're coming to LA, just like me. And that automatically makes you stand out."

"Yeah," Sarah says. "I guess you're right."

And she brushes back a strand of hair that's curling in the wind; she doesn't speak for the rest of the night.

.

She wakes up to the sound of Bobby honking the horn. "People need to fucking_move_!" he says. He bangs on the steering wheel.

Sarah sits up, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. They're not on the desert road anymore; they're on a freeway, surrounded by cars. The traffic is bottlenecked, and they're boxed in, a semi-truck on their left and a couple SUVs in front and in back of them.

Bobby slammed the steering wheel. "MOVE!" he says. He honks his horn again.

Sarah rolls over sleepily and stretches. "Are we in California?"

"Hell yeah we are," Bobby says. "We've been in Cali all morning. It's just that this fucking _traffic_--" he honks his horn "--is in the way!"

"I never would have pegged you for the road rage type," Sarah says.

"This isn't road rage," Bobby says. "Road rage is taking my gun out and popping those motherfuckers blocking up the road."

Sarah's eyes widen. "You have a gun?" she asks.

Bobby nods his head over to the armrest next to her. Sarah reaches in and feels it; a small black handgun. It feels heavy in her hand.

"I have a pocket knife, too," Bobby says. "It's in the backseat."

"Jesus," Sarah says.

A car cuts in front of them and Bobby slams his fist on the horn. "HEY! What do you think _you're_ doing!" He flips them the bird. The driver in front of them sticks his arm out the window and gives him the finger back. Bobby snarls.

"Bobby, nevermind!" Sarah says.

Bobby grunts. "Fucking California drivers. They don't know how to drive," he says, but he's visibly calmer. Sarah leans back in her seat and closes her eyes.

Sarah overlooks Bobby's temper: she decides he's all bark and no bite, quick to anger only because his baby face and his girlish lips keep people from taking him seriously otherwise. "They called me Mouse back home," Bobby says, seething quietly. "I'm not a mouse--I have three black belts! Can a mouse do that?"

Sarah thinks he does look like a mouse. She doesn't tell him that, though.

Sarah also notices that Bobby doesn't shave--he tries to grow out a beard, but the stubble grows in sparse patches at the tip of his chin and on the sides of his cheeks. He looks more scraggly than badass, like an adolescent boy trying to look grown-up.

.

Bobby's friend lets them crash in the livingroom, and his friend's girlfriend lends Sarah clothes to wear and some money to buy a package of underwear. It's a bohemian existence and completely communal, and Sarah can't help but be reminded of the old compounds in Utah where all the wives gathered and shared each other's laundry and cooking. Here, though, they share liquor and trade war stories of casting calls gone wrong and bad gigs that make Sarah's hair stand on end. "They made me French kiss this old guy," the girlfriend says, making a face. "It was so disgusting. I had to brush my teeth afterwards."

They pour each other drinks and laugh until the morning hours, and when they're drunk and lying on the floor, Sarah's the only sober one of them left. She matches them, drink for drink, but the alcohol doesn't seem to affect her as badly. "It's because you're Irish," the friend says knowingly. "You have bigger livers than the rest of us. It's a scientific fact!"

"Bullshit," Bobby says. "You guys are just weak, is all."

Sarah swirls her glass, frowning slightly. Her father used to brag about drinking everybody under the table, too. She tosses down another shot, wincing slightly at the burning in the back of her throat.

The girlfriend grins drunkenly and hands Sarah the bottle of tequila. "You need to eat the worm," she says. "It'll get you drunk, guaranteed."

Sarah doesn't want to be drunk, but she takes the worm, anyway. Bobby and his friends clap and high five when she swallows it down, making a face.

"Hardcore!" Bobby says, and he claps her on the shoulder. "See guys, I _told_ you she'd be cool!"

Sarah flushes broadly. She's not used to all this praise. She grabs the bottle and guzzles the rest down, making the others shriek in delight.

"Hardcore!" Sarah says, but she's still not drunk. It's like her own personal superpower.

Bobby and his friends sprawl out on the floor, shot glasses littering the ground. Sarah stoops over to clean up, but then she stops herself. She's not home anymore, why should she bother?

Through the window, she can see the sun start to rise, and she can hear the cars driving by for their morning commute. She sets the empty bottle on the table and curls up on the couch until she falls asleep.


	10. Fish

In Brooklyn, there is a path that weaves around the heart of the borough and follows its way along the East River. Gabriel sometimes takes that path and follows it to the park overlooking the water. He brings bread, which he pinches into small pieces; he tosses it to the squirrels and the pigeons that congregate around the benches and the statues.

It's a warm day, and Gabriel doesn't feel like opening the shop just yet. True that the business hours are supposed to be eight to five, and also true is that the one or two customers he usually gets always invariably show up in the morning (wealthy old women who rise at 6 AM and take long walks down Brooklyn's business district); even so, Gabriel decides today he's not going to open the shop on time. He deserves a day off.

He sits on the bench and tosses pieces of bread to the squirrels. They gather by his feet, turning the bread over with their little paws. Gabriel smiles. He likes how the squirrels have opposable thumbs, just like monkeys and humans do, and he likes how they cover themselves with their tails when it gets too cold or windy.

A woman jogs past him, sees the squirrels and smiles. He smiles back. She smiles again and jogs away, then stops to talk to a man walking a dog. Gabriel frowns.

Gabriel turns and watches the squirrels nibbling on the bread. Their little black eyes sparkle in the light. A second squirrel comes up to him, and Gabriel tears off another piece of bread and tosses it on the ground. It picks up the bread and scampers to a nearby tree.

"You really shouldn't be doing that."

Gabriel looks up and sees a fat old woman staring at him disapprovingly. "You shouldn't be feeding them," she says. "They have diseases and they can spread. It's not right."

"I'm not hand-feeding them, there's no way they could bite me," Gabriel says.

"It doesn't matter, you shouldn't do it," the woman says.

Gabriel ignores her and tosses another piece of bread on the ground. The squirrel sits by his feet. It's round and plump and its tail curls up over its back. Gabriel resists the urge to try and pet it. The woman glares at him and walks away.

The second squirrel finishes eating the bread and skips over to Gabriel's feet. Gabriel tears off another piece of bread and holds it in his hand. "Here you go," he says softly, and the squirrel takes it from him. He feels the slight tug as the squirrel pulls the bread away, and Gabriel can feel himself smiling broadly.

Another woman jogger jogs by. "Cute," she says. Gabriel flushes and turns away.

He looks at his watch. It's almost noon. He's been sitting here all morning; he might as well make a day of it.

He rolls the bread back up in newspaper and puts it in his coat pocket. The squirrels run back up the trees.

.

There's a pet shop on the corner of the street, and on a whim, Gabriel goes inside. Little kittens mew at him, and puppies jump up and wag their tails. All the animals jump up and walk toward him except a small white ball of fur that's curled up in the corner of the case. It's shy, Gabriel thinks, and he smiles and touches the glass with his fingertips. The other kittens come up to his hand, mewing loudly.

"Need some help?"

Gabriel looks up and sees a store clerk sweeping the floor. "You thinking about adopting?" the clerk asks.

"Oh no, I was just looking," Gabriel says.

"You wanna see them?" the clerk asks. He motions to the fluffy white kitten curled up in the glass case in front of him.

"May I?"

"Sure," the clerk says, and he pulls out the keys hanging from his belt and unlocks the glass case. He scoops the kitten up and hands it to Gabriel.

"Oh my gosh," Gabriel says. The kitten opens its eyes and mews. "Hey little guy," Gabriel says softly, and he strokes its head with his thumb. The kitten rubs the side of its face against Gabriel's chest. Gabriel smiles wide.

"It's a hundred dollars to adopt, they come already spayed or neutered," the clerk says.

"Oh, I wish I could, but my landlord doesn't allow animals," Gabriel says. The kitten is purring. It snuggles against him.

"We have other animals if you want to see," the clerk says. "Lizards are really good. So are fish. Have you ever had a fish?"

Gabriel leans against the glass case and cradles the kitten close. It's starting to knead against his arm.

"Here, let me take that," the clerk says, and to Gabriel's dismay, the clerk takes the kitten from him and sets it back in the case. "We have lots of fish over here, if you want to see," the clerk says.

Gabriel stands and follows the clerk to the other side of the shop. "Betta fish are really cheap and low maintenance," the clerk says. "All you have to do is change the water once a week to keep the ammonia levels from rising."

Gabriel sees the huge tank of fish swimming in front of him. The Betta fish, the ones the clerk is talking about, are put in separate bowls; unlike the other fish, who are swimming freely with four, five, six other companions, the Betta fish are by themselves, each one in its own small bowl and isolated from the rest of the pack.

"Why are they separated?" Gabriel asks.

"They're aggressive," the clerk says. "They're fighter fish, they'll rip up whatever ends up in the tank. Look." And the clerk holds up a little hand mirror in front of one of the fish, which wildly starts banging on the side of the glass. "It thinks there's another fish there. It'll keep trying to pound the glass until I take the mirror away," the clerk says. He sets the mirror down.

"It must be lonely for them," Gabriel says. The clerk looks at him strangely.

"I'd like to buy one," Gabriel says, quickly. "What supplies do I need?"

"Just a bowl and food," the clerk says. He hands Gabriel the bowl. "The bowl comes with the fish."

Gabriel smiles and takes the bowl from the clerk, following him to the check-out counter. A puppy barks. Gabriel turns around and looks back at the display case. Puppies and kittens are up by the glass, tails wagging emphatically.

"What happens to them if they're not adopted?" Gabriel asks. He hands the clerk his credit card.

"We take them to the humane society," the clerk says. "If no one wants them, they get put to sleep."

Gabriel glances back at the little white kitten, which had resumed its spot curled up in the corner. It pokes its head up and mews at him sadly.

The clerk rings him up.

"Enjoy your fish," the clerk says, and Gabriel hurries outside. He cradles the bowl against his chest like he's holding a precious jewel.

.

It's getting dark out, but Gabriel stops by his shop anyway. He sets the bowl on his workbench. Carefully, he adjusts the bowl so that the water catches the light, and the sleek black scales of the fish glint in the water. Satisfied, Gabriel leans back and watches the fish swim.

"I wish I could take you home with me, but the subway's kind of a rough ride. I'm afraid I'd spill your bowl," Gabriel says. He taps the corner of the fishbowl with his finger. "But I'm here every day anyway, so you won't get lonely. I was thinking of getting you a little friend, but the guy at the pet store said you wouldn't like it. I don't blame you. I like having my own space, too."

The fish swims by his finger. Its mouth opens and closes as if it's talking back.

"I still think it would be nice to have a friend," Gabriel says. "Maybe I should get you a plant or something, put it in your bowl. You'd like that, right?"

The fish swims in lazy circles. Gabriel smiles.

"I'll do it first thing tomorrow," Gabriel says. The fish moves by his finger again and opens its mouth. Gabriel taps a little fish food onto the surface of the water and watches the fish swim up and eat. When it's done, it swims in circles and sits near the bottom of the tank, its mouth gaping like an upside-down smile.

The clocks chime. Gabriel looks up. It's nearly 8 PM.

"I guess I should be going home," Gabriel says sadly. He taps the bowl with his finger. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

The fish's mouth opens and closes. Gabriel smiles and puts on his coat.

.

The next day, when Gabriel comes into the shop, he sees a streak of water on his workbench and a puddle of water on the floor. Gabriel rushes over to the bench to see the Betta lying on the ground. "Oh my God," Gabriel says. He scoops the Betta up and puts it in the bowl. It floats to the top of the water. "Oh my God!"

The Betta floats by his finger and looks up at him with dead eyes. Gabriel rushes back over to the pet shop.

.

"God, I'm so sorry. I didn't think this one was a jumper," the clerk says.

Gabriel stands in the pet shop with red eyes and an empty fishbowl. The clerk had taken the fish from him and unceremoniously walked into the men's room in the back. Gabriel's stomach tightened when he heard the toilet flush. "Of course, we'll get you a new fish, free of charge," the clerk says. "Or if you want we can just refund your money. It's up to you."

"How do I keep them from jumping?" Gabriel asks. The clerk gives him an apologetic half-shrug.

"They can't help it," the clerk says. "The most you can do is put a lid on the tank, but the problem with that is, Bettas breathe air. If the lid's too tight they could suffocate."

The clerk wanders over to the shelf in the back.

"We have these tanks with holes in the lid," the clerk says. "This might be worth investing in. They're smaller than a normal bowl though, and your Betta might get kind of cramped."

"I don't know if I want another fish," Gabriel says.

"Aw man, don't let this spoil it," the clerk says. He hands Gabriel another bowl. "Take it. This one's a good one; he's not that aggressive and I've never seen him jump. And if he dies, I'll refund your money anyway. How does that sound?"

He hands Gabriel the bowl. "Have a nice day," the clerk says.

Gabriel frowns and heads back to the shop.


	11. What Freedom Is

"I think I found a place. It's a one-bedroom, so it'll be kind of cramped, but it's cheap, and if we room together we can totally swing it."

It's early morning, and Sarah is eating cereal out of a Styrofoam bowl. She watches Bobby pacing the room, waving the newspaper like a flag. He spreads the newspaper in front of her and taps on the ad with his index finger.

"See?" he asks. "It's only eight hundred a month.That's crazy cheap for a place like this. Usually we're looking at twelve hundred, thirteen hundred for a one bedroom. This is a great deal!"

Sarah takes the paper from Bobby's hand and chews on her lower lip. For the past month and a half, they've been living on the floor of his friend's living room, mooching off their groceries and drinking all their liquor. Even now, the air is dank with the stale smell of sweat from too many bodies sharing the same space. She hands Bobby back the paper.

"I think we should get it," Sarah says, and Bobby claps her on the shoulder. It's a done deal.

.

Because Sarah doesn't have any references or any sort of credit history, Bobby signs the lease in his name only. "It's not like I'm gonna throw you out or anything," Bobby says. "We're equal partners in this--partners in crime! Damon and Affleck, all the way!" Sarah just nods; of course it makes sense. She's just a kid; Bobby's been around. Bobby knows how to get things done; Bobby's aware of the world. That he should be the one to find the apartment--and sign the lease--seems only natural.

They make the living room Bobby's sleeping area, and Sarah takes the bedroom. But it doesn't really matter _where_ they sleep, as neither of them have any furniture besides the beat up old futon mattress Bobby's friend gave them. "There's a stain on the corner, I think that's where the dog pissed on it," Bobby says. Sarah makes a face. Bobby ends up being the one to use it as a bed.

Sarah gets a job as a waitress at the local cafe; the job comes naturally to her, and she moves through the restaurant crowd with an easy grace. It was as if she were _born_ to be a waitress: she's friendly and the customers like her, and pretty soon she racks up a small batch of regulars who eat up her mousy smile and her polite conversation. Bobby doesn't work, though. Bobby goes to casting calls and shows off his martial art skills; and every night, he comes back to the apartment depressed and whining like a kicked puppy.

"They said I'm too small," Bobby says one night. They're sitting around a cardboard box that's being used as a makeshift table; on it is a small pot of ramen noodles Sarah had boiled up a couple minutes beforehand. They share the pot, eating out of it with different forks. "How the fuck am I too small? I pump up these guns every day!"

Bobby makes a fist and shows Sarah his muscle. Sarah shakes her head.

"Maybe they mean you're too short," Sarah says.

"I'm not short," Bobby says.

"I didn't say you were, but maybe they think that," Sarah says.

"Oh, and by 'they' you mean 'you,'" Bobby says.

"Bobby--"

"Fuck, Eden, you're supposed to be my partner in this!" Bobby says. He slams his fork back into the pot. "You're supposed to boost my morale. You're not supposed to knock me down."

"I wasn't knocking you down," Sarah says. "Bobby, rent's due next month, and I have my four hundred--"

"I don't have it," Bobby says.

"We need your half," Sarah says. "I'm already saving all my tips and I'm working doubles. You need to help out, too."

"And what? Submit to The Man?" Bobby asks. "No fucking way, dude. I'm following my_dream_. And if that means I'm going to live and die in the streets, then so be it!"

"Well I _don't_ want to 'live and die in the streets', I want to live in the apartment!" Sarah says.

Bobby glowers.

"Just...can't you get a job waiting tables or something?" Sarah asks. "At least, for now?"

"I guess," Bobby says.

Sarah touches his arm.

"You're not giving up," she says. "You're just being practical." She hands him his fork. "Eat," she says. She pushes the little pot of steamed noodles in front of him.

Bobby takes the fork. "I've always liked ramen," Bobby says.

"Good," Sarah says. "Because that's all we can afford."

.

The casting calls are horrendous. Sarah would rather she skip them altogether and work at the cafe, but Bobby is insistent, pushing her little slips of paper with open calls and phone numbers he got from his other actor friends. "Once we get the cash, we'll get a really good agent," Bobby says. "But for now we just have to do it the hard way." Now Sarah finds herself in a small, cramped room, staring at a table full of people who are twice her age and looking tired and irritated. Sarah clutches her script tightly.

"Name?" The casting director shuffles his papers.

"Eden, Eden McCain," Sarah says. She stands awkwardly while the people around the room take their notes.

"Okay, Eden," the casting director says. "We're gonna have you read starting at the bottom of page five. You'll be reading the part of 'Laura,' and I'll be reading the part of 'Conrad.' Just keep it simple, okay?"

Sarah nods and starts reading. "Who was that girl?" Sarah reads.

"What girl?" the casting director reads.

"That girl I saw you kissing in the park," Sarah reads. "I saw you, don't deny it."

"Okay you're sounding a little stiff," the casting director says. "Can you try and make it more angry?"

"Sure, uh. Who was that GIRL?" Sarah reads again. "That girl I saw you kissing in the park! I saw you! Don't deny--"

"Okay that's a little much, can you bring it back?"

Sarah cocks her head. "Um." She starts flipping the page back but she drops the script on the floor. She bends over to pick it up.

"Leave it," the casting director says. "I think we've seen enough."

Sarah hands them back the script and walks out of the room. Behind her, another actress smiles and steps in the room. Sarah can hear them talking. Then, "Who was she? That girl..." The actress' voice carried out into the hallway.

Furtively, Sarah looks around and follows the voice back to the conference room. Through the window in the door, she can see the actress reading. Sarah can't take her eyes off her. It's as if the actress had transformed, had drawn from some invisible well of hurt and stepped into a different reality: she's broken and fragile; it drips off of her like rain.

"I saw you, don't deny it," the actress says, and Sarah can see real pain on the actress' face. "I thought you said you loved me, but you were lying. You were fucking _lying_."

The actress turns her head, and Sarah can see that she's crying for real.

The casting director jumps out of his seat and claps, and the actress does breaks out into a wide smile. "Thanks!" the actress says, and she does a little pirouette. The actress wipes the tears off with the side of her hand and starts cracking jokes about the weather.

Sarah stares at her, incredulous. Then she turns and goes back home.

.

Bobby jumps up from the floor. "How did it go?" he asks. Sarah throws the keys on the banister.

"Awful," Sarah says. "I was so nervous, I couldn't stop shaking."

Bobby shakes his head. "That's why you gotta take a little of this," he says, and he hands her a small metal flask. "It loosens the nerves," Bobby says. "You might not get drunk off of it, but it'll still clear your head."

Sarah takes the little metal flask from him and takes a swig. She swallows hard, the burning in the back of her throat like a comforting hand.

"Maybe you're right," Sarah says. She caps the flask back and hands it to Bobby.

"Of course I'm right--you're just too shy," Bobby says.

"I'm not shy," Sarah says.

"You're shy!" Bobby says. "You wouldn't even talk to my friends the first few nights we were there, we had to liquor you up before you'd even open your mouth."

"I don't like having to drink so much," Sarah says. "I don't want to lose control."

"You never get drunk, what the hell are you talking about?" Bobby asks. "Dude, you can drink us ALL under the table and still go back for more! You're like a walking liver. Don't worry about it! A couple nips before auditions won't hurt. It'll make it easier. Seriously."

He moves to sit next to her.

"Actually, I think that's kind of cute, a shy girl like you wanting to be an actress. It's just like me. I'm a small guy and I wanna be a stunt man." Bobby laughs. "See? That's why we make a good team--we totally understand each other!"

He takes her hand and squeezes it. Sarah is overwhelmed.

"We're gonna make it big," Bobby says. "You and me together. I promise."

He grins and gently squeezes her thigh, making Sarah jump. She takes the flask from him and takes another swig. It keeps her from blushing a deep, dark red, because if that were to happen, she knows Bobby would never let her live it down.

.

They kiss on a Monday night; they had gotten kicked out of a bowling alley for being too loud, and the clubs wouldn't let them in because they weren't properly dressed. Bobby walks Sarah along the side of the parking lot before he stops and cups her face under the giant neon bowling pin sign, which buzzes in the dark. "You're my Rose to my Jack," Bobby says, and Sarah stares at him, confused. "Titanic," Bobby says. "Jesus Christ, you've never seen Titanic?"

Sarah shakes her head. "I never really went out much," Sarah says. Her face is uncomfortably close to his.

"Maybe we should change that," Bobby says, and he kisses her.

Sarah is glad she's a little bit drunk; she would have slapped him otherwise.

They have sex later that night.

.

"What was your first time like?" Bobby asks.

Sarah pulls the blanket over her bare breasts and stares at her hands. "I was 15," she says, finally. "My mom had died, and my dad had gotten remarried. He and my stepmom were fighting and he ended up leaving us. I was having a really hard time coping with it, but then I met this guy, George. He was a year older than me and I thought he understood me. I thought he was my friend. But then one night he took me to the back of his car and raped me."

Sarah closes her eyes.

"I didn't know it was rape, then," she says. "He didn't force me, really. But it hurt and I told him to stop, but he didn't. He just kept going. It hurt so bad I started to cry..." Sarah hugs herself tightly. "He kept apologizing afterwards," she says. "He said he didn't know. But I was_crying_, Bobby. I was crying and he didn't even care..."

Sarah starts to cry. Bobby props himself up on the pillow.

"It's just like in a movie," Bobby says, and Sarah looks up at him, confused. "See, you can use that pain for your performance. It's stuff like that that makes you more _real_."

"I am real," Sarah says, and Bobby rubs her shoulders.

"You're only as real as the pain you carry inside," Bobby says. "It's what makes us laugh, what makes us love. You're real because of what you went through."

"Well maybe I don't want to be real, then," Sarah says. She winds the blanket closer. "Maybe I'll just be fake forever."

Sarah stares out past the broken futon and through the curtain-less windows in front of her. She can hear people walking in the parking lot below them, the soft footsteps of their neighbors echoing in the distance. She waits for Bobby to speak again, but he doesn't. He snores softly beside her.

"Bobby?"

She touches his arm. Bobby had fallen asleep.

.

They start fucking every night after that. It's just like brushing teeth.

More and more, she thinks of herself not as Sarah, but as "Eden," Eden the struggling actor, the starving artist. When the electricity goes off and everything in the refrigerator spoils, it's Eden who laughs it off and buys bags of ice from the convenience store to store the eggs; and when male customers leer at her breasts and try to smack her ass, it's Eden who whirls around and snarls. Eden is fierce, an Amazon woman, fearless and unyielding, not the mousy little girl from Utah. Eden isn't afraid of her voice, isn't afraid of speaking up. And more importantly, Eden isn't afraid of a little booze.

Bobby and his friends go out for drinks, and Eden ends up drinking her money away. It annoys her how expensive everything is in the bar, so she buys her own liquor and stores it in the pantry. "BYOB," Eden says, and she hides a bottle in her purse. "Bring your own booze."

Every time she starts doubting herself, Eden does a shot. Every time she starts to get nervous, or insecure, or antisocial--every time little mousy Sarah Ellis rears her ugly head--Eden takes a shot. She drinks her past away, lets it pool around her feet and disappear into a glorious oblivion. "My name is Eden!" she screams drunkenly one night, speeding down a highway at 3 AM. She hangs her head out the window while Bobby drives, barreling down the road at breakneck speeds. "My name is motherfucking _Eden_!" she says, and her hair whips in the wind. It feels like freedom, and she fucking loves it.


	12. Maintenance Calling

The light in the hallway had burned out, and Gabriel has to grope his way back to his apartment door. He walks slowly, feeling his way through the dark; he holds his hand out by his side and lets his fingers trail against the side of the wall. There's a stillness in the air, an emptiness that Gabriel can't place. He hears the sound of his footsteps on the carpet and the soft, wet sounds of his neighbors having sex in the apartment across from him. Down the hall a baby is crying. He imagines its mother hurrying out of bed and warming milk in a saucepan. _She'd wear a blue bathrobe_, Gabriel thinks. He fishes for his keys.

Gabriel unlocks his apartment door and turns on the light. The walls are painted a soft, pale green, which blends well with the warm yellow light of his ceiling lamp--Gabriel was never one for the histrionic reds and blues that his neighbors seem to prefer--and he takes off his coat, carefully hanging it on the coat rack. Then he walks over to the sink and pours water into a tea kettle. He wipes his hands against the sides of his slacks and strikes a match, bending over to light the stove. The fire pops. Gabriel drops the match in the little saucer of water on the countertop before putting the tea kettle on the burner. Steam begins to rise at the top, the little orange-blue flames kissing the bottom of the pot.

It's almost 10 PM. Gabriel sits heavily on the couch and closes his eyes. His head hurts; it feels almost like a band of pressure clamping down on the sides of his head which radiates from his temples to the base of his neck. They're not migraines, exactly--he doesn't get an aura, and he's not exactly incapacitated--but on a pain scale of 10, Gabriel would rate it a solid 8. His head throbs and the light hurts his eyes: he switches off the lamp.

The tea kettle whistles and Gabriel stands up. He goes to the kitchen and turns off the burner before pouring his tea into the cup. Gabriel likes the sound of tea pouring into the cup; it's soothing to him. He imagines it's what a creek would sound like, or the soft lapping sounds of water down a stream. From the far kitchen wall, he can hear his neighbor's TV droning in the background. Gabriel drinks the tea slowly, breathing in the hot steam and letting his hands be warmed by the cup. Then he places the cup back on its little saucer and carefully walks back to the living room.

He sets the cup and saucer down on the end table and picks up a book. The book is heavy and the pages are thick and uneven. Gabriel smiles. He turns the book over in his hands and reads the dust jacket. He wishes he had his fish with him, but it's just as well; Gabriel spends more time at the shop anyway.

Someone knocks on the door.

Gabriel puts down the book and stands up. They knock louder.

"Just a second," Gabriel says.

"It's maintenance."

"Hold on," Gabriel says, and he unchains the door. "Yes?"

The superintendent peers behind Gabriel's shoulder. "We need to snake your pipes," the superintendent says. "There's a leak in the apartment downstairs and it's coming from your kitchen sink. Your neighbors called and complained."

"Are you sure it's me?" Gabriel asks. "I don't use my sink that often and I don't use the garbage disposal. I don't see how I could have clogged it."

"The leak in their ceiling is right under your kitchen, and it's leaking pretty badly," the superintendent says. "Sorry, but we gotta take care of this--it's gonna be a pain in the ass, but it's gotta get done."

Gabriel opens the door to let the superintendent inside. The superintendent bumps Gabriel's shoulder as he walks past him. Gabriel shuts the door and quickly follows him into the kitchen, where the man starts unpacking his tools onto the linoleum floor. Gabriel leans against the counter. The superintendent looks up.

"This could take a while," the superintendent says.

Gabriel frowns and wanders back to the living room. He sits back on the couch and closes his eyes. He thinks of the book in his hand and the tea on the end table. His mind begins to drift, and as he starts to fall asleep he sees the half-formed images of a dream float through his field of vision. The fish, the tea-kettle, a woman's hands touching his leg. Gabriel's breathing deepens. His muscles relax.

The sound of metal scraping on metal makes Gabriel jump.

"Oh, sorry," the super calls out. "Had to pull the old drill out."

Gabriel's head hurts. He presses his hands to his temples and starts massaging his head. He hears the man rummage through his tools.

When was the last time anybody was here? Gabriel wonders. His mother had only been here once--she hates the subway, she preferred that he visit her instead--and the last person who was here was the landlord who wanted to check out the fireproofing in his ceiling.

Gabriel walks back to the kitchen. "How's it going?" he asks.

"Slowly," the man says. He doesn't look up. "You have a real bad clog here, but I think I got it," the man says. Gabriel fidgets with the bottoms of his sleeves.

"I just made tea, do you want any?" Gabriel asks.

"Oh, no thanks, but I could use a beer if you have any," the man says.

"Let me check," Gabriel says, and he opens the refrigerator even though there's really no point--Gabriel doesn't drink. He pretends to look inside and shuts it sadly.

"I'm out," Gabriel says.

"Damn," the man says. He starts packing up his tools. "Well, I think this should fix it," the man says. He stands up. "Your garbage disposal is jacked; that's probably what caused the clogs."

"I don't use my garbage disposal," Gabriel says.

"Well it's still all jacked," the man says. "Anyway, we'll take care of it in the morning. But at least we got the leak fixed."

The man hitches up his pants and walks to the door. He tracks muddy footprints on the carpet.

"Have a good night," the man says.

"You too," Gabriel says dully. The man leaves and Gabriel chains the door. He sinks onto the couch. His head hurts and his jaw is beginning to click. Damn. He walks to the kitchen and shakes out a couple aspirin, turning on the faucet. Rusty water spurts out into the sink.

"Shit," Gabriel says. He dry swallows the aspirin, making a face. It goes down bitter at the back of his throat.

Gabriel lies back on the couch, holding a pillow and resting his head against the armrest. It's so quiet now, he can hear the faucet dripping and his neighbors around him. He hears laughter, the soft movement of people awake and restless at 1 AM. Gabriel's head throbs and he presses his face against the pillow; he doesn't want to move.

Gabriel falls asleep on the couch.

.

The phone rings. Gabriel jerks upright. He gropes for the telephone. "Hello?"

"Hi, it's maintenance again," the man says on the other line says. Gabriel glances at the wall clock--3 AM. He rubs his neck, breathing heavily.

"There's still a leak in your downstairs neighbor's apartment, and we think it's coming from your bathroom," the man says. Gabriel struggles to focus.

"So are you coming up here to snake the pipes in there, too?" Gabriel asks. His head hurts and his tongue feels thick in his mouth.

"Actually, no--we're doing that tomorrow. But we're just calling to let you know not to use your shower or your bathroom sink. You can use your kitchen sink though, since we already snaked it," the man says.

Gabriel stares at the phone.

"Hello? Hey you there?"

"I'm here," Gabriel says. "You're telling me I can't use my shower?"

"It's just until we snake your pipes," the man says.

"Can't you do it now?" Gabriel asks.

"It's too late now, we only do emergency calls," the man says. "I was just calling as a courtesy."

"It's 3 AM," Gabriel says.

"I'm sorry, but we had to let you know before you took a shower tomorrow morning. There's the potential that your pipes could burst and it could flood the whole downstairs area," the man says.

Gabriel taps the receiver against his forehead. Perfect.

"Wait, there's something else," Gabriel says. "Ever since you messed with the pipes it's spitting out brown water. What is that?"

"I only just cleared the clog, I had nothing to do with your water output," the man says.

"Well can't you take a look at it? You're going to be here anyway." Gabriel knows he could easily fix it himself, but it irritates him that he has to deal with it in the first place.

"Well actually it won't be me, it'll be another service guy. I only do nights," the man says.

"Of course you do," Gabriel says. He rubs his neck. "When will the other guy be here?" he asks.

"Probably nine, ten tomorrow morning," the man says. "We just need permission to come into the apartment in case you're not home."

"Fine," Gabriel says. He closes his eyes.

"It won't be long," the man says. "And you can still use your kitchen sink if you need it."

"But it's spitting out brown water," Gabriel says.

"We'll see you later," the man says.

"No, wait--"

The man hangs up the phone.

.

Gabriel can't sleep after that, so he takes the subway back to Brooklyn. The train is completely empty when he rides it, and when he walks down the block to where his shop is, the streets are empty too. He passes by an ally and hears two lovers kissing in the dark. The woman leans with her back against the wall while the man stands in front of her, his hand pressed up against the brick. She tilts her head just a little and the man dips forward, kissing her gently.

The woman breaks away. "Who's that?" she asks.

Gabriel hurries to his shop.

Gabriel reaches the shop and opens the door. Then he switches on the light and tosses his coat on a chair. The fish, which had been sitting at the bottom of the bowl, starts swimming in fast circles. "Hi," Gabriel says, and he taps the bowl. The fish's mouth opens and closes in greeting.

"You won't believe the night I'm having," Gabriel says. "The super screwed up my pipes and now I can't even take a shower."

The fish swims up to his finger sympathetically. Gabriel runs his hands through his hair, which is already starting to feel greasy.

"I could shower at my mom's, but I don't want to. She'll barge into the bathroom and shove pancakes down my throat," Gabriel says. "And I don't want to go to a hotel right now, they'll charge me for an entire night and I don't want to have to deal with that."

He rubs his neck. "Sorry, I don't mean to be so upset."

The fish settles on the bottom, staring up at him with round eyes.

Gabriel falls asleep at his workbench. Hours pass. The little bell above his door tinkles and Gabriel jerks awake. He sits up slowly and wipes the drool off his face.

"Can I help you?" he asks. His eyes are bleary and he squints to see.

A woman in a black suit stands in front of him. "I have this watch, I think it's broken," she says. She hands it to him. "It used to be my grandfather's and it has a lot of sentimental value. It hate to see it broken like this," the woman says. Her white blouse is unbuttoned at the top and Gabriel can see her perfect round breasts peaking from underneath the shirt.

Gabriel stinks. He can smell it on his body. Every time he moves, he catches the bitter stench of grease and sweat. The woman smiles at him expectantly.

"I can have this fixed by tomorrow," Gabriel says. "There's a card at the desk you need to fill out with your name and phone number, and there's a pen right there if you need it."

"Oh, thank you so much," the woman says. She bends over to write in her name, and now Gabriel has a full view into her shirt. He forces his eyes down. She's wearing a black bra.

She hands him the card. "Here you go," she says. The woman smiles gently. He imagines his thumb dipping inside her mouth.

The woman stands in front of him for a few more excruciating minutes. Gabriel stares at the watch.

"Is there anything else?" she asks.

He doesn't look at her. "No, you're fine."

The woman frowns and turns to leave. As she walks out the door, Gabriel swears he can see the fabric of her suit skirt clinging to the slight cleft of her ass.

Gabriel collapses on the bench. "Oh my God..."

The fish's mouth opens and closes. It watches him expectantly.

Gabriel glances at the clock; it's 11 AM. The super should be done with the pipes by now, and thank God; he just wants to go home and take a shower.

Gabriel gets up and changes the sign from OPEN to CLOSED.

.

There's a note on Gabriel's apartment doorknob. "Maintenance was here, 9:10 AM, re: pipes." Gabriel jabs his keys into the lock and flings his door open. He rushes to the bathroom. Everything is turned over; dirt is tracked all over the carpet and all his things, which were lovingly arranged on the bathroom countertop, are strewn unceremoniously on the ground. "Shit," Gabriel says. There's dirt in his bathtub, too.

Gabriel runs over to the kitchen and turns the faucet. The water spurts out clear, then turns opaque. It's not quite dirty but it's not quite clear either. "Great," Gabriel says. He shuts the water off and walks on the living room. He'll fix the sink later, after he cleans the bathroom and takes a shower. His head hurts. He sinks on the couch and closes his eyes.


	13. Bobby Leaves

"I love you," Eden says.

"What?"

Eden presses her face against Bobby's neck and leans against his chest; she holds his body close.

"I said, 'I love you,'" Eden says.

"I know, I heard," Bobby says. He sits up and switches on the light.

"What's wrong?" Eden asks.

"It's just...it's only been a couple weeks. It's kinda freaking me out," Bobby says.

"Why?" Eden asks.

Bobby stands up and pulls a shirt over his head. He paces the floor and Eden can see him trying to think of what to say.

"It's like Baz Luhrman's _Romeo and Juliet_," Bobby says. "Leo played Romeo, and he falls crazy in love with Juliet only after a day, and he ends up killing himself."

"This isn't a movie, Bobby," Eden says.

"I know, I'm just saying," Bobby says. "You don't want to move too fast, or else you might get hurt."

Eden stares at the ground.

"Hey," Bobby says. He rubs her shoulders. "I like you a lot. You're my partner in crime, remember? Damon and Affleck. We're in this together."

"I'm your fuck buddy," Eden says.

"A fucking _good_ fuck buddy," Bobby says. Tears well up in Eden's eyes.

"Oh my God, Eden, I'm just joking," Bobby says. A tear falls down her face.

"I know," Eden says. She flashes him a weak smile.

.

Two years pass, and what started as a no-strings-attached necessity soon wilted and stumbled into something more intense. Eden throws herself at Bobby, opens herself up and shows him everything: her fucked up past, her abusive father; her mother's suicide. "My real name is Sarah," Eden says, and she laces her fingers in his hand. But it's too much for Bobby; he can't handle her neediness. Eden tries to talk to him, but talking turns to hurt and Eden crying on the couch. Bobby reacts almost violently.

"I can't do this anymore," Bobby says. He's drunk on vodka and lime juice and he's angrier than usual. "What happened? You used to be so much fun to be around, and now I feel like you're fucking sucking me dry."

"Why do you have to be so mean?" Eden asks. "Just because you're having a bad day doesn't mean you get to take it out on me."

"And you're not helping!" Bobby says. "All I want to do is come home and laugh with someone, but instead I have to sit and listen to you mope. I'm sick of it! I just want to go out for once, have some_fun_. We never get to do anything together, we just sit and stare at each other. I hate it."

"Oh, and I guess you just want me to roll over and be the good dog, is that it?" Eden asks.

"Oh _fuck_, Sarah," Bobby says. He's been calling her Sarah ever since Eden told him her real name a couple months ago. "Why do you always have to guilt trip me? It's just sex! You make it out like it's some sort of federal crime or something."

"Every time you touch me it turns sexual," Eden says. "I was crying about my mother killing herself, and you stuck your hands between my legs."

"Uh, yeah, and I think I remember you liking it!" Bobby says.

"Bobby!"

"You know, I am so _sick_ of you playing the little martyr," Bobby says. "Poor Sarah and her cross! Her daddy hit her! Be nice to her or else she'll cry!"

"You shut the fuck up, Bobby!" Eden says. "All you've been doing is sitting on your ass jerking off over Leonardo DiCaprio. Leo this, Leo that, Jesus Christ, why don't you fucking _marry_ him if you love him so much?!"

"You're just jealous because he has more talent than you'd EVER know what to do with!" Bobby says.

"Oh is that right?" Eden asks.

"Yeah!" Bobby says.

"And what about you, huh?" Eden asks. "Big man on campus. You can't even book a job. Fucking pathetic! And I'm the one busting my ass to pay the bills. I'm a fucking chump, I'm _supporting_ your Leo-loving lazy ass. Oh yeah Bobby. Don't look so shocked. Who busted her ass to pay fucking rent the last month? ME! That's who! So why don't you shut the fuck up for once, okay? Because I'm fucking tired, too, and I'm sick of you taking advantage of me."

"How am I taking advantage of you?" Bobby asks. "You can leave whenever you fucking want, no one's tying you down. And let's not forget, _you_ were the one who came with _me_, okay? You fucking hitched your wagon. So don't come wah-wahing to me, okay? You can leave whenever you fucking want to!"

Eden gets up and leaves.

"Yeah that's right!" Bobby says. "Run away! That's what you do best! Run, Sarah, run!"

Eden slams the door.

.

She can hear him knocking. "Sarah?"

"Go away," Eden says. She crouches on her bed.

She hears him knock again. "Sarah, I was drunk, I didn't mean it," Bobby says.

"Go the fuck _away_!" Eden says.

In the crack beneath the door, Sarah can see the two shadows of Bobby's feet cutting into the light. She waits a moment and sees him move; the light is now an unbroken line shining underneath the door's edge. She falls asleep in her clothes on top of the bed covers. Beside her, she can hear Bobby pacing in the living room.

.

The next morning, Eden pokes her head out and ventures quietly into the living room. Bobby is awake, sitting on the couch.

"Bobby?" She stands hesitantly.

"Hey," Bobby says.

"Hey," Eden says. She folds her arms across her chest. "I'm sorry about what happened last night," she says. "I got carried away."

"Yeah," Bobby says. "I'm sorry too."

Eden lets out a sob of relief and throws herself into Bobby's arms. Bobby pulls back. Eden looks at him, confused.

"I think we need to talk," Bobby says.

Eden backs away, drawing into herself.

"I don't think this is going to work out," Bobby says. "I've been thinking about it for a long time, and I think things are getting a little too serious. I'm not ready for this kind of relationship yet, but you're a great girl and I want us to be friends. I just don't know that I want to be involved in something this intense right now."

"No," Sarah says. She starts to cry. "No, no, no, Bobby, no..."

"I'm so sorry, Sarah," Bobby says.

"What about Ben Affleck and Matt Damon?" Eden asks. "What about Leo and riding to the top together? What happened to that? I told you_everything_, Bobby. I trusted you."

"I'm sorry," Bobby says.

"What about you fucking me for the last two years?" Eden cries. "You wouldn't even tell me you loved me back--do you know how much that hurt?"

"I'm sorry," Bobby says.

"Where am I going to live?" Eden sobs. "What am I going to do? I don't know anybody else out here--where am I going to go?"

"You're just gonna have to find your own place," Bobby says.

"Bobby..."

"I can't!" Bobby says. "Sarah, I can't! I can't live with an ex-girlfriend, that's fucked up. The lease is in my name, you have to find your own place."

"Oh God..." Eden sobs harder.

"I can stay with my friends for a couple weeks," Bobby says. "But at the end of the month I'm coming back. Hopefully you'll have a place by then."

Eden is shaking. She feels like throwing up.

"I'm so sorry, Sarah," Bobby says. He gets up and starts packing up his stuff.


	14. Maria

The light gets dimmer as the day wears on, and Gabriel decides to lock up early. It's barely afternoon but already it looks like night outside; it looks like night on the inside too, the white-faced clocks peeking out from black shadows.

It's an eight block walk to the nearest subway station, but Gabriel doesn't mind. His shop is in Brooklyn, but his apartment is in Queens, and even though he could easily find a place closer to work, he relishes the commute. He likes the way the people stand shoulder to shoulder, pretending they're alone, because that way he can let his arm press unnoticed against someone's side, or let his hand softly graze against a stranger's fingers. During the train ride, he'll watch the doors slide open and the people peeling away to their stops, feeling completely at home amidst the sweating bodies and the vacant eyes staring sightlessly in front of them. It's the only time he can feel not quite like an outsider.

It's starting to snow now, and Gabriel lingers a moment. The sky is black and orange lights bounce off low-lying clouds, and something in his memory stirs, a fragment from his choirboy youth: O vos omnes qui transitis per viam, attendite et videte. _ O ye who pass by my way, look and see if there is sorrow like my sorrow._ He exhales slowly, watching the white plume of his breath swirl and disappear into the cold air. It'll be New Year's soon, he realizes. The year is dying. He wonders briefly where the time went.

Someone cries out. Gabriel whirls around and sees a little girl crying and clutching her ankle. She had slipped on a patch of ice, and the contents of her backpack had spilled everywhere.

Gabriel rushes toward her. "You okay?" he asks. He kneels down beside her. "Let me see your ankle." He pulls up the girl's pantleg and pushes down her sock. Her ankle is angry and swollen. "Where's your mom?" Gabriel asks, but the girl starts to cry again.

"Okay, it's okay, we'll take you to my shop. We'll fix this up, I promise." He stoops over and picks her up. She feels feather-light in his arms.

"Do you like watches?" he asks.

She shakes her head and buries her face against his chest, her little arms wrapping around his neck. Gabriel smiles and nuzzles into her hair.

"That's okay," he says. "Not very many people do."

"Maria!" He turns and sees a woman frantically chasing him down. "Maria!"

The woman lurches toward him, violently grabbing the girl by the legs.

"You're trying to steal my baby!" the woman shrieks.

"Wait, I can explain," Gabriel says.

"Put her down!" she says, and she yanks the little girl from him. The little girl starts screaming, holding tightly onto Gabriel's neck.

"Help!" she says. "Someone help me!"

"Her ankle is broken, you're hurting her!" Gabriel says.

The little girl screams louder, kicking her legs and violently whipping her body against him.

Cops from across the street rush over toward them. "Hey, what's going on?" they ask. Hands and arms reach in-between them and pull them apart. Gabriel stumbles backward and one cop yanks the woman back by her shoulder. The woman wrenches the little girl away.

"He was trying to take my baby," the woman says. She starts to cry. "She wanted to play in the snow, so I let her. And then when I looked out again she was gone!"

"I saw her fall," Gabriel says. "I swear to God, I wasn't going to kidnap her, I asked her where her mother was, and when she didn't answer I was going to take her to my shop."

"Where's your shop?" the policeman asks.

"I own the watch shop just a couple blocks down," Gabriel says. "She fell down and I think she broke her ankle. She only started screaming after her mom grabbed her leg."

"It's true," the other policeman says. "I was standing over there when it happened."

"Okay, okay, clearly this is some kind of misunderstanding," the first policeman says. "Ma'am, you want us to take you to the ER and check out your daughter's ankle? Because we can do that while we're here."

"You're just gonna let him go?" the woman asks, incredulous. "He was going to rape my baby! And you're just going to let him _leave_?"

"I wasn't going to rape her!" Gabriel says.

"I saw you!" she screams. "I saw you sniffing her hair! You were going to kidnap her!"

The policeman sighs and rolls his eyes at his partner. "Ma'am, are you going to be okay?" he asks.

The woman is sobbing and doesn't answer.

"Ma'am? Ma'am, would you like an escort to the hospital?" The police officer takes her arm. "Ma'am?"

The woman mumbles incoherently and presses against him. They start to walk away.

It's growing dark and Gabriel is alone, breathing hard and staring angrily at the ground. Behind him he can hear the policemen talking to the woman, their voices hushed in the crisp air. More than anything he wants to run up to the woman and bash her head in, wants to punch her and kick her and watch her blood run into the snow...

He looks up and sees the little girl staring straight at him, slung over the policeman's shoulder. Her wide eyes meet his gaze, and suddenly he feels ashamed. He might as well be a pervert, going to the subway, touching people when they didn't know. And it was as if the mother had seen inside him, knew how he felt the moment he picked up her daughter and held her to his chest. He liked the way she felt, the comforting weight in his arms. He wasn't a pedophile, but he was disturbingly close: New Year's with no one to kiss; an empty shop and an even emptier home.

His mind whispers the antiphon, the choral plea echoing in his head, _O vos omnes qui transitis per viam, attendite et videte..._

"Fuck," he says, and he tries hard not to cry. 


	15. Hurt

Eden lies in bed with the shades drawn. Her eyes are bleary from crying, and her body hurts all over; she's too exhausted to move. Outside she can hear the cars driving by and the drunken shouts of her neighbors dancing in the courtyard. She lights a candle by the bed and pulls her knees to her chest, watching the flame flicker softly in the dark. Her chest heaves a dry sob and she wipes her eyes, swallowing hard. She needs to heal herself, but she doesn't know how; she's an open wound, naked and vulnerable, and she pulls back reflexively, protectively, groping for a bottle by her bed. It's empty, and Sarah drops the bottle on the floor. Sarah rolls on her side and opens the drawer to her nightstand. Her fingers brush against a half-empty bottle of Xanax that one of Bobby's actor friends had leant to her, and Eden palms it in her hand. She takes a pill and takes a swallow of water, making a face. Lying back down, she sets the glass back on the nightstand and lies back on her side, hugging a pillow to her chest. Through the closed shades, she can just make out the shadows of the palm trees dark against the LA sky.

Days pass, and Eden wallows in her depression. Everywhere she looks, she sees Bobby; Bobby's scripts and Bobby's guitar, Bobby's DiCaprio posters and Bobby's fat Buddha statue next to a half-empty bottle of vodka he had just opened a nearly a week ago--remnants of the life they had together. She thinks about the last two years, the 3 AM drive down the California freeway, and it hurts so bad she can barely breathe. Bobby was all she knew; he was her rock; he was supposed to be there for her. Now she has no one. Eden starts to cry again.

The phone won't stop ringing. Eden lets the answering machine pick it up.

"Eden, it's Debbie. You were supposed to be at work an hour ago, where are you?"

"Hi Eden, it's Mark. You've missed three shifts; we need to discuss your situation."

"Eden it's Mary-Ann. I'm calling to let you know not to report to your shift tomorrow, you've been let go."

Eden rolls onto her stomach and buries her face into her pillow. There's nothing she can do.

.

Sarah Ellis is devastated. Sarah Ellis just wants to die. She takes the length of an electrical cord and loops it tight. She remembers her mother's eyes. Irish eyes, crinkling in the corners.

Horrified, Eden drops the cord and starts to sob.

Hours pass, and Eden sits up bleary-eyed. With shaking hands she grabs the bottle and guzzles the vodka down, relishing the comforting burn at the back of her throat. It's purifying, a white light that fills her up and makes her forget. Eden pulls the neck of the bottle away from her lips with a pop and smashes it on the ground. Fucking Sarah Ellis, fucking weak bitch. Eden stares at her hands; her nails are ragged and bitten to the quick. Eden swears to herself--she'll never let anyone hurt her like that again.

.

The next year passes in a chemical-filled haze. She spreads her legs and takes the hit, if only to be close to someone. Sucking and fucking. It makes the guilt go away.

.

She writhes the heat of the club, the flashing lights and the sweating bodies pulsing together to the beat of the music. Her eyes are closed and her head is thrown back, and even in her cheap black dress and her stringy hair tied back, Eden is a part of the crowd, losing herself among the hot throng of people around her.

She feels a hand on her waist, hips grinding against her ass. A man is behind her, and he roughly whips her around and presses against her.

The rhythm of the music is relentless, pushing and pumping like a beating heart. Gasps turn to grins and she yanks him against her. She's drunk with music, she's not thinking, and when she pulls him into the bathroom, it's not the sex she wants but the feeling of being needed.

He slams her against the sink and she claws at his shirt like a blind woman. Mouths open and panting, her arm whacking against the faucet and turning the water on, he pumps into her and she throws her arms around his back. The music around them pounds in the back of her head, growing louder and stronger around them, and when they climax she doesn't move. Instead she lets him slip out of her and straighten out his clothes. She tugs her dress back down and slides down the sink, and it's only then that she notices he's gone. She doesn't even know what he looks like.

She looks in the mirror and sees nothing but dark circles and bloodshot eyes, and with shaking hands she opens her purse and pulls out the pills. The air around her is hot and thick, the flashing lights bouncing off the particles in the air like sulfur, and after she swallows the pills, she knows she will feel whole again.

.

"Let me _go_!"

Eden struggles but the cops hold down her arms. They push her facedown on the ground, their knees to her back.

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

"Fuck you!" Eden says. She spits in the cop's face.

"You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you."

Eden thrashes against them. They pepper spray her in the face.

.

Eden wakes up in restraints. She's in the hospital on a T-shaped padded bed that's nailed to the ground. Her arms and her ankles are tied down, and she's quite literally spread out like Christ on the cross. Eden lifts her head. She sees a man in horn-rimmed glasses crouching beside her.

"Are we calm, now?" the man asks.

"Where am I? What the fuck am I doing here?" Eden asks.

"You're in a psychiatric facility in Costa Verde, just outside of LA," the man says. "Now, before you ask me any more questions, do you feel like attacking myself or anybody else?"

"I want some answers here, what the fuck is going on?" Eden asks.

"See, that answer isn't going to get you anywhere," the man says. "Now, I can remove these restraints, and we can talk about your situation like two adults. Or, you can keep throwing these obscenities at me, and I leave the restraints on. It's up to you," the man says.

Eden bangs her head against the mattress. A tear rolls down her face. "I'll be good," Eden says, brokenly. "Please just take me off."

The man reaches over and unhooks the restraints on Eden's arms and feet. She sits up, rubbing her wrists.

"You wanna take a walk?" The man asks. "I'll take you to my office."

Eden nods. Together, they walk out to the double-bolted doors where the man swipes his key-card and opens the exit.

.

Eden is in a sterile-looking office; the room is brightly lit. She sits cross-legged on a metal chair, staring at the man in front of her. The nameplate on his desk says "Bennet"; piles of paper stack up beside him.

The man leans back, making a pyramid with his fingertips. "Do you know why you're here?" he asks. Eden shakes her head. "You were found wandering the street shouting obscenities and attacking passersby. You were pretty manic; you attacked three policemen and a security guard. Do you remember that?"

Eden thinks back. "No," she says. The man nods.

"It's called substance-induced mania," the man says. "Your urine tox screen came back positive for drugs and alcohol. You've been committed by the judge on-call last night," the man says.

"What?"

"Ninety days is the ruling," the man says. "You'll stay here in the acute ward until you've stabilized, after which time you'll be transferred to the drug and alcohol rehabilitation unit. We just have to make sure you're stable enough to go there."

"Wait, I'm being held here against my will?" Eden asks. "You can't do that--I have rights!"

"You waive those rights once you've been deemed a danger to yourself, to others, or property. And with what you did last night, you were a danger to all three."

"That's not fair!" Eden says. "I'm not a psych patient--I'm not crazy!"

"No, you're just a girl with a drug and alcohol problem," the man says. "And you got involved in the system after you smashed open the window to the grocery store. You should be thanking me that you're in the hospital and not in jail."

Eden hunches over. She puts her head in her hands. "Fuck," she says. She tries hard not to cry. "And who are you?" she asks. "Are you my shrink or something?"

"I'm your advocate," the man says. "I'm here to make sure your rights don't get violated while you're in here."

"I don't have insurance," Eden says. "I won't be able to pay for this."

"We have independent funds to help people like you, at least on a temporary basis," the man says. "90 days is the limit; after that, our social worker will help you secure housing and a job, should you need it. You'll be working closely with her and the team psychiatrist. Once you're detoxed, and the judge orders your discharge, you'll be free to go."

"I have to go to court?" Eden asks.

"There's a courthouse on the lower floor of this building," the man says. "All psychiatric institutions have one; the judge is the one who decides who's discharged and on what conditions. The doctors and social workers have no say so in that; they can only make recommendations."

"So then, are you my lawyer?" Eden asks.

"Think of me as your case manager," the man says. "I oversee a lot of people like you."

Eden finds out his name is Noah Bennet. He has a daughter named Claire and he keeps a little dish of hard candies by his desk. Whenever Eden talks to him, she watches his wedding ring gleaming in the sun.

.

Eden sits in the corner; she has a red band around her wrist. "Acute Detox," it says; "EtOH/benzos." The nurses give her pills in a little paper cup, but it doesn't seem to help. Sometimes at night, Eden shakes so bad she can barely stand it. She cries and curls up into herself, hugging herself tightly.

Around her, other addicts shuffle around with red bands and hospital gowns; a couple push their IVs while they walk, the IV bags swaying on the metal poles as they wheel around. In the day room, the addicts sit in a circle and chant the Serenity Prayer and share stories of their addiction. "What's your drug of choice?" they ask. Eden ignores them.

Down the hall, an artist from New York named Isaac shows her the cafeteria and explains to her how the cigarette breaks work. "3 PM every afternoon," Isaac says. "But you might as well try quitting while you're here. Kill two birds with one stone, you know?"

"What's your drug of choice?" Eden asks. Isaac turns his sketchbook over in his hands.

"Heroin," Isaac says, and he shows her his sketches.

"These are beautiful," Eden says. She turns the page, and sees that the sketches are dated nearly two months ago.

"I can only work when I'm high," Isaac says, and he takes the sketchbook from her.

Eden frowns and watches him disappear down the hall.

.

90 days. It feels like a fucking eternity.

Bennet tells her the good news: the judge is letting her be discharged. "You seem stable, and you're doing well on the program--there's no reason why we have to keep you here," Bennet says.

"Where am I going to go?" Eden asks.

"You're going home," Bennet says. "Unless that isn't possible anymore..." He studies Eden's face. "You don't want to be in LA anymore, do you?" he asks. Eden shakes her head.

"No," she says. She draws her knees to her chest. "There's too many bad memories there. I was thinking of going out East, maybe...maybe New York. I just don't want to be here anymore."

"I understand," Bennet says, and he opens the top desk drawer. "There is a graduate from the program who owns a bookshop in Manhattan. He's sponsored others like you, and successfully. Our social worker can put you in contact with him. He can get you a job and help you find an apartment," Bennet says. He pulls out a business card and slides it under Eden's hands.

"Thank you," Eden says. She feels like she's going to cry. "Thank you so much."

Bennet shakes his head. "It wasn't me, it was you," Bennet says. He stands and claps her shoulder.

Later, Eden sits on her bed, packing up her things. She folds up a sweater, then pulls out the card. Manhattan. She's going to Manhattan.

On the ward, she can hear the nurses playing music at the nurse's station. The patients shuffle down the hallway, humming tunelessly to the music. Eden looks at the card and smiles, and slips it into her back pocket. Across from her, she sees the square of light on the wall, and can hear the soft chirping of birds outside.


	16. Part III: To Manhattan

**Part III**

.

Eden travels the four day trip from Costa Verde to Manhattan by bus, where she will arrive at Port Authority. The long succession of days and hours wear on her, and there's nothing Eden can really do but sleep. When she sleeps, she dreams of tall grass and wide spaces, and of big black birds being swallowed up in the grey expanse of sky...

The bus jolts to a halt and Eden jerks awake. She feels grimy and her hair sticks flat to her forehead, and there's a large grease spot where her forehead was pressed up against the window. At the rest stop, Eden splashes cold water on her face and pumps soap into a wet paper towel. She pulls her shirt off and washes under her arms and around her breasts, ignoring the other women milling around behind her. There's an unmistakable smell of sex and stale urine, and Eden is vaguely reminded of the seedier clubs in LA. On the wall, Eden can see a phone number scratched into the concrete. _For a good time, call..._ Eden frowns. She used to be that girl, and her face burns at the memory. Reflexively, her hand slides into her purse and gropes for the flask, but Eden remembers she threw it out months ago.

Eden pulls her shirt back on and looks back at the mirror. Her face is blotchy and her hair sticking to her forehead in greasy curls. The first thing she's doing is getting a haircut: her roommate at the rehab said she'd look good in short hair, and Eden is starting to agree. She pulls her hair back into her hand and lets out some slack, letting the hair billow out by her face. Short hair. She can totally see it.

Eden climbs back onto the bus and sinks heavily into her seat, closing her eyes. She feels the bus start to move, the vibrations of the tires rumbling beneath her. Behind her, a little boy plays tetris, his thumbs thudding furiously on the console.

.

Eden stands in the middle of Port Authority, holding her duffel bag and staring at the subway map. The train routes and the colorful maps are too confusing for her to puzzle out, and she looks around for someone to ask directions. But the platform is completely empty; it's just her and the sound of water dripping, and the pieces of garbage and crumpled newspaper scattered between the train tracks. Eden walks back to the head of the station and stares at the subway map, thoroughly confused.

Eden finally decides to follow the underground passageway that takes her to the Times Square-42nd Street complex; the bright blue line on the map promises to take her to the heart of the city, and Eden figures she might as well try it; the worst that would happen is she ends up in the wrong part of town, in which case, a little sight-seeing wouldn't hurt. She takes out a pen and copies the order of the stations on a napkin, just in case there won't be any other maps inside the train. Then she grips her bag and waits for the train to arrive, her toes just barely on the yellow "Do Not Cross" line painted on the floor.

Someone is playing the harmonica. Eden turns and listens for the sound. A homeless man is sitting on the dusty steps. He holds the harmonica with shaking hands, his yellow eyes squinting in the harsh subway light. The train squeals, and Eden feels the quick whoosh of air announcing the train's arrival. Eden grips the shoulder strap to her bag and stands back. When the train stops and the train doors slide open, Eden sees she's the only one entering the car.

.

6 AM in Manhattan, and the city gleams in the early dawn. The rain drips down the eaves of the store fronts, puddles reflecting sunlight like mirrors, a brightness covering the street like a yellow haze. Just ahead of her, she can see the cars coming down the street, bright blue streaks on black pavement. She notices the _fooshfoosh_ of the wind, the tires on the pavement, the billowing half-cloud of smoke from the tailpipes and the empty street. Eden's not used to walking long distances; hitching her shoulder bag, she adjusts positions to ease the aching in her neck and back. She digs in her pocket and carefully unfolds the piece of paper where the social worker had written down where she would be living: an apartment complex that qualified for Section 8 housing. It's for tenants at or below the poverty level, and rent is subsidized by the government. "This is a really good option for you," the social worker says. After several days of legal maneuvering, the social worker secures a lease, and Eden has a place to stay.

"You'll be paying eight hundred a month, which is what you're paying now at your current apartment," the social worker explained. "But this apartment is being subsidized by the government, so every year you have to fill out paperwork to make sure you still qualify."

"What happens if I don't qualify?" Eden asked.

"Your lease won't be renewed," the social worker said. "But don't worry--that shouldn't be a problem."

Now Eden gets to the apartment, which sits above a faded green Spanish bakery. The door is red and the wooden frame is splinting, and when Eden gets the key in the lock, the door sticks.

"Shit," Eden says. She bangs the door with her shoulder twice before it bursts open.

There's a stale, musty smell in the apartment, and the apartment is dark except for the streaks of watery sunlight filtering through the windows. She closes the door and sets down her bag. The floor groans when Eden steps inside, and as she walks, her boots step loudly against the floorboards. In the kitchen area, there's a naked lightbulb sticking pathetically out from the ceiling. Eden pulls the little cord, and the room is bathed in a sickly yellow light. The stove top is painted a bright 70s yellow, and the kitchen wallpaper is peeling. Eden frowns and wanders into the bedroom area. It's completely dark and just as empty, and it smells even mustier than the living room.

"Classy," Eden says. She can hear the sounds of Spanish music permeating through the floor.

Eden squats on the floor and rubs her eyes. Her first order of business is to find out where the hell the rest of her furniture is--before leaving the rehab facility, she and the social worker had arranged for all her LA furniture to travel by truck to Manhattan--but she's too damn tired to play detective. She rests a moment before heading up to use the bathroom. Her eyes hurt. She just wants to take a shower and lie down.

The last tenant left their shower curtain still hanging, so Eden pulls the shower curtain back. "Oh my God!"

A cockroach disappears into the drain, and the tub is streaked with rust and dirt.

Strike that: her first order of business is to clean the fucking bathroom.

.

Eden spends the next two nights sleeping on a makeshift bed made out of towels; when her furniture and the rest of her belongings arrive, Eden tears into them eagerly. The move had reduced her bank account into a long string of zeros, but Eden is too happy to care. She arranges her furniture and lights vanilla candles on the end tables by the couch, the musty odor mixing with the subtle fragrance of scented wax.

Eden promised herself a haircut, so she walks out into the street and bumbles into a generic hair salon, where the stylist cuts her hair short and frames her face like a boy's. The scissors flash and Eden can feel her curls tumbling onto the ground. She's like a bird molting, or a snake shedding its skin, and Eden's head feels light. The stylist wheels Eden around, and she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her heart-shaped face stands out even more with the short hair, and her eyes seem too big for the rest of her head. Eden touches her hair self-consciously. New beginnings. It will take some getting used to.

Eden has a few days to explore before starting her job at the bookstore, so she takes the opportunity to walk around and get to know the area. The Spanish bakery is open at 5 AM, and is busy by 6; across the street is a Jewish deli and next to that a red brick flower shop. Eden buys cut flowers and arranges them into a five dollar vase--red Gerber daisies. They remind her of California. She sets them on the table.

Eden hates the subway. It's too damn confusing for her to figure out. It shouldn't be that difficult--every ten feet there's a map staring her in the face, each stop clearly marked with a bright circle on the line. But what Eden can't get is where things are in relation to the subway stop. She has a vague idea that numbers go up a certain direction, and she knows that the city is built on a huge grid. But she gets lost anyway, and she tries asking people on the street, but they're in too much of a hurry to be bothered. People shove into her as they walk, bumping into her shoulders and nearly knocking her over.

"Jesus!" Eden says. She clasps her purse and hurries back to her apartment.

Back in her living room, Eden spreads the MTA map out on her sofa and tries to plot out her route for tomorrow morning. She has to go to work at the bookshop, but it's too far to walk and too expensive to take a cab. Eden frowns. She'll have no choice but to take the subway. The prospect is less than exciting.

Eden decides her best course of action is just to leave early and wing it. She lies in bed and hugs a pillow to her chest, worrying in her head. She falls into a fitful sleep, and whenever she wakes up, she can just barely hear the soft chatter of the Spanish bakers moving around below her.


	17. Chance Encounter

It's late at night, and the buildings on the street are all dark. The entrance to the subway station is empty, and when Gabriel enters, he feels the rush of warm wind on his face. He bounds down the metal steps, his feet stepping on the scraps of newspaper and crumpled napkins on the ground. He's greeted by the subtle tang of wet concrete and the sound of his own footsteps echoing around him, and when he gets to the platform, he looks around and sees a young woman sobbing by the pillar.

Gabriel rushes over to help. "Are you okay?" he asks. She jumps out of her seat.

"I'm lost!" she says. "I don't know what to do! I don't know where I am! I was going home and I thought I was on the right train, but then it turned express and it skipped my stop, and oh my God, I don't know what to do..."

She's sobbing wildly. Besides the two of them, the platform is completely deserted, the dirty concrete empty in the sickly green light. It's bleak and it's desolate and it's late at night, and Gabriel can understand why she'd be panicked.

"It's okay, it happens. It happens all the time," Gabriel says. He speaks softly, soothingly, as if coaxing an injured animal out from under the brush. "Do you know where you are?" Gabriel asks.

She swallows hard and blinks back tears. "I think...somewhere in Manhattan?" she says. She looks up at him with frightened eyes.

"You're in Brooklyn," Gabriel says gently. "But it's okay, we'll get you home. Can you tell me where you live?"

"Rivington Street," she says. Her chest spasms. "I think...I think the Lower East Side." She speaks in soft little half-sobbing breaths, her voice thin and small from all her crying.

"Well okay, that's easy to get to," Gabriel says. "You just have to take the F train to Delancy. That's the Sixth Avenue line. It'll be okay, the train will be coming in a few minutes."

"I don't know where Delancy Street is," she says. Her chin quivers slightly. "I don't know how to get home from there."

"Here," Gabriel says. "Why don't you come with me? We'll take the train together, and I'll help you find your place. Okay?"

"Are you sure?" she asks.

"It's late out. I'd feel better knowing you weren't walking around alone," Gabriel says.

"Thank you," she says. She sniffs pathetically and wipes her eyes. Gabriel is overwhelmed with the sudden urge to scoop her up and crush her in his arms.

.

They sit next to each other in an otherwise empty train car, the plastic orange seats creaking under their weight. As soon as they sit, she closes her eyes; she doesn't even bother with small talk. Gabriel likes that. Across from him, he sees their reflection on the windows of the train, and the movement of the subway tunnels as they fly past: lights and shadow, lights and shadow, then numbers and the cool cream tile of the next stop, the doors sliding open for no one.

Her neck is bent and her head rolls loosely on her chest. Gabriel looks at her closely. She had fallen asleep.

"Miss?" He touches her arm. "Miss, wake up."

She jerks awake. Her eyes are bleary and she looks confused, but as soon as she sees him she smiles. "Are we there yet?" she asks. He shakes his head.

"A couple more stops," Gabriel says. "We should be there, soon."

The woman nods and closes her eyes, and she leans her head against his shoulder. He shakes her awake again.

"You were falling asleep on my shoulder," Gabriel says.

"Oh sorry, I didn't realize," she says.

"You should be more careful," Gabriel says. "I'm a stranger, you shouldn't be so trusting. You're lucky I found you--if you had run into someone else, they could have taken advantage of you."

Her eyes well up. "I'm sorry," she says. Gabriel's face softens.

"It's okay," he says. "I'm just saying...for future reference. You shouldn't be so trusting."

"Okay," she says. She nods vigorously, wringing her purse in her hands. Gabriel feels a stab of guilt. He didn't mean to upset her. He tries to change the subject.

"Where are you from?" Gabriel asks. She glances up at him, then back down to stare at her hands.

"California," she says, finally. "Costa Verde. Just outside of Los Angeles."

"Really?" Gabriel asks. "I wouldn't have guessed--I thought you were from Kansas or something."

"Kansas?" She laughs. "Oh God no, not from Kansas. Why do you say that?"

"I don't know, usually I'm pretty good at reading people," Gabriel says. "You just look like someone who'd be at home in the middle of a cornfield."

"A cornfield?" The woman laughs again, an outraged hiccup. "God, that couldn't be further from the truth." Gabriel waits for her to say more, but she doesn't. Instead, she opens her purse and dips her hand inside. Then she frowns and pulls her hand out, zipping it up again.

"What's your name?" she asks.

"Gabriel," he says. "And yours?"

"Eden," she says. She sticks her hand out. "Nice to meet you."

He shakes her hand. His hand practically swallows up her smaller hand into his fist, and when they let go, he can see her slender wrists and the delicate, blue veins just beneath the surface of her skin.

"So what were you doing out so late? You couldn't have been sight-seeing," Gabriel says.

"I was working," Eden says. "I work at a bookstore and it was my first day, and I wanted to impress my boss, so I told him I'd work until closing. I didn't realize closing was at 11 PM, though."

"That's pretty late," Gabriel says. Eden spreads her hands.

"I didn't know," she says. "And I thought I'd be able to take the subway back to my apartment, but then it turned rapid transit and it skipped a whole bunch of stops. I tried to change trains and go to a different station, but I got on the wrong train--"

"And you ended up in Brooklyn," Gabriel says. Eden nods.

"Do you live in Brooklyn?" Eden asks. Gabriel shakes his head.

"I live in Queens, but I work in Brooklyn. I own a shop there," Gabriel says.

"Isn't that kind of far?" Eden asks.

"It is," Gabriel says. "But the location attracts more business, so I really can't complain."

The doors slide open.

"This is our stop," Gabriel says, and he motions for her to follow him. They walk past the tall blue columns and the huge murals of fish and sea creatures decorating the wall. Gabriel's used to it, but Eden stops and stares, craning her neck to look behind her.

"Do you want to see?" Gabriel asks. Eden runs up to a mural of two trout swimming upstream.

"These are beautiful," Eden says. She looks up at him, her eyes shining. "Do you know who made them?"

Gabriel smiles sadly. "I wish I knew," Gabriel says.

They walk up the stairs and onto the street. Unlike the rest of Manhattan, the buildings on the Lower East Side are flat boxes squatting below the rest of the New York City skyline; in the dark, rows of Subway shops and illegally parked cars litter the street, and just beside them, they walk past a dirt lot, their feet kicking up loose gravel.

"So, Rivington," Gabriel says. "Rivington runs parallel to Delancy, so if you can remember the intersection that's closest to your apartment, we can just walk up that street and find your place that way."

"I'm not really on a corner, I'm just in the middle somewhere," Eden says. "There's a Jewish Deli across the street from me, though. And I live above a bakery. I don't know if that helps," she says.

"Not really, but that's okay," Gabriel says. "We'll just take Norfolk and walk down Rivington, then. We'll just pick a direction; if we come to the end of the street and we can't find your apartment, we'll just turn around and walk the other way."

"Oh my God," Eden says. She kicks a piece of gravel. "You're so nice for helping me. I can't believe I'm making you walk all this way. You must think I'm the biggest idiot," Eden says.

"No," Gabriel says. "You're new here and you don't know your way around. Actually, I'm always impressed when new people move here, especially when they're alone."

"How did you know I was alone?" Eden asks.

"You would have called someone if you weren't," Gabriel says.

They walk in silence. Gabriel guides her down Norfolk and then onto the corner of Norfolk and Rivington, where the buildings are taller now, all red brick and covered with white trimming. Gabriel turns east and motions for Eden to follow him.

"God, I'm so glad I met you--I don't know anybody here," Eden says. "I just want someone to talk to. And it's not like I can just call up someone from back home."

"It gets lonely when you're in the city by yourself," Gabriel says. "And you're not alone. Sometimes whole days will pass without me ever speaking to anyone, and I've lived here all my life. It just happens," he says.

"You said you owned a shop," Eden says. "You don't have customers there?"

"Not often," he says. "I can barely keep up the overhead."

"What kind of shop is it?" Eden asks.

"It's a watch shop," Gabriel says. "I'm a watchmaker. It's not that exciting, and not that many people own the kinds of watches that I fix. They just throw them away, buy new ones." It's colder now, and the wind is starting to pick up. Gabriel sees Eden shiver and pull her jacket around her.

"Are you okay?" Gabriel asks.

"I'm fine," Eden says. "I'm just not used to this weather."

"Here," Gabriel says, and he pulls her against him. She huddles against his side.

They're walking quicker now, the sounds of their footsteps echoing with the sounds of sirens blaring in the distance. He watches the plume of her breath swirl up around her face, and he pulls her closer. "Don't worry," he says. "We'll find it."

"Wait, here it is!" Eden says. She rushes up to a dilapidated red brick building. There's green awning on the front, _La Panaderia_ emblazoned in white on the store window. She whirls around. "Oh my God, I didn't even recognize it at first. It looks so different at night."

Gabriel smiles. "Well I'm glad I could help," he says.

Eden throws her arms around him and hugs him tight. "Thank you so much," she says. Gabriel is stunned.

"You're welcome," Gabriel says. He holds her a little too long, and a little too tight. He feels her start to pull away.

"Okay, well good luck," Gabriel says, quickly. He turns and starts to leave.

"Wait!" Eden is digging frantically in her purse. "I--shit. I thought I had a pen..."

Gabriel stands and watches her uncertainly. She shuts her purse and lets out a frustrated cry.

"I was going to give you my number," Eden says. "I don't know anybody here, I thought maybe...God it's stupid. Nevermind. I've bothered you enough, already."

"No, wait," Gabriel says. He digs into his pocket and pulls out his business card. "If you ever need a watch fixed," Gabriel says. He hands her the business card.

She studies the card, her brow furrowed as if she's memorizing the address. Her head is half-bent and her dark hair frames her face. Gabriel realizes how small she is, how delicate. She tilts her head up and the light catches her face, and more than anything he just wants to touch her.

"Well, good luck," Gabriel says hoarsely.

"Thank you," Eden says. She delicately places the card in her purse. "It was nice meeting you."

"You too," Gabriel says. She smiles at him one last time and heads up the metal steps. He watches her climb to the top of her apartment, watches her hands dip into her purse and pull out her keys, which jangle softly above him. She opens the door and disappears inside. He'll probably never see her again.

On the train ride home, Gabriel looks back out the window and watches the numbers and the shadows flashing past him, the bright yellow lights cutting through the dark. He leaves the station and walks the long stretch of sidewalk back to his apartment, touching the spot on his shoulder where she had fallen asleep. Later, he lies in bed and remembers the feel of her body pressed up against his chest; he can't sleep, so he walks up to a bookshelf and absently picks up a book. He reads a little, and when he finally falls asleep, he does so holding the book by his side.


	18. A Growing Friendship

It's early morning now, and the sun shines through the half-opened slits in the blinds on the window. Eden squints her eyes and looks at the clock, and sees that she has woken up almost a full hour earlier than her alarm. Eden frowns. She turns off the alarm and sits upright, stretching her neck and swinging her legs around the side of the bed. She pads barefoot to the bathroom, slinging a towel over her shoulder. In the shower, she leans forward against the shower head, relishing the feel of warm water rolling down her back.

Eden rides the subway without incident--she didn't have trouble getting to the bookstore yesterday either, it was just when the train randomly became rapid transit on her way home that she got lost--and when she gets to the bookstore, her boss drops two crates of unsorted books on her desk. "They're in poor condition, so they won't sell," he says. "Catalog these and lock them up in storage; we can donate them to the public library later on."

Eden carries the crates into the back room. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she dumps the books on the ground and sorts through them, crinkling her nose at the dust. The books are falling apart; the pages are yellowed and the spines are cracked, and looking at them, she knows her boss is right: they're worth next to nothing.

Eden waves her hand across her face and turns her head, trying not to breathe in the dust. The dust settles and she starts organizing the books by genre, making little piles on the floor. She picks up small leather-bound book and holds it up to the light. Ernst von Hasselmann's _Horologist's Handbook_, copyright 1894. It's worn and it's falling apart, and Eden knows exactly who should get this.

She walks onto the floor. "We're really just giving these away?" she asks. Her boss nods.

"No one will buy them. We're dropping them off at the library at the end of the week," he says.

"So, would it be okay if I keep this?" Eden asks. She shows him the book.

"_The Horologist's Handbook_," her boss reads. He looks up at her. "I didn't know you were interested in horology," he says.

"I'm not," Eden says. "But I think I know someone who is."

.

The rest of the week moves slowly, and Eden itches for the weekend. She spreads out her MTA map and studies the routes, tracing the colorful lines with red marker and circling her stops. On Saturday, Eden sits cross-legged on her bed and turns the book over in her hands. Because the binding is damaged and the pages are starting to fall out, Eden wraps the book in brown paper and ties it closed with a string. She slips the little package under her arm and heads out the door.

Eden gets on the subway and sits against the window, clutching the book and her purse and watching what seems like the entire human race cramming into the train car. As the stops in Manhattan peel away, the crowd begins to fade; only Eden and a handful of other people are sitting in the car now, the train gently rocking on its way to Brooklyn. If she gets lost, she has all day to find her way back; it's bright out and there are plenty of people around to help her. And if the shop is closed and Gabriel is nowhere to be found, she'll take it as a sign and mail the book instead.

A man wearing an iPod catches her eye and smiles. He's probably not there, Eden thinks, and she holds the book tightly to her chest. The man with the iPod makes a move to talk to her, but Eden turns away. The man gets off at the next stop.

Eden pulls out her pocket map of Brooklyn, and slowly gropes her way through the streets. The air is crisp and the sun shines brightly, and Eden feels less afraid. She pulls out the business card and compares it to the map, and she turns a sharp corner and heads north. She sees the watch shop just down the street.

The windows are dark and no one's inside. "Perfect," Eden says. She leans up against the glass and peers in. She sees the clocks on the wall and small crystal paperweights lining the shelves, but she doesn't see Gabriel. She sighs and turns around, crossing her arms. "Great," Eden says. "Now what?"

A car drives by and Eden sits heavily on the stoop. She pulls out her map again, and decides she might as well explore.

.

Eden takes a cab to the East River waterfront, which is one of the few touristy things in this part of the city. The book sticks out of her purse, but it's secure enough so that it won't fall out. She buys a pretzel and wanders into the park. Joggers and bicyclists ride past her, but she walks at a leisurely pace. A squirrel comes up to her feet, and Eden bends down. She rips a piece of pretzel in half and holds it out in front of her; the squirrel reaches out and takes it into its little paws. She watches the squirrel eat while she finishes the rest of the pretzel, licking the salt off her fingers. The wind blows slightly and she feels her hair blowing into her face. "Eden?" someone says, and she turns around. Gabriel is standing behind her.

"Hi," Gabriel says. "What are you doing here?"

"I was actually looking for your shop, but you were closed, so I thought I'd go ahead and explore a little bit," Eden says. She rises from her squatting position and walks toward him. "I wasn't expecting to see you here," she says.

Gabriel spreads his hands. "I come here all the time," he says. He shows her his paper bag. "I have a weakness," he explains. Eden takes the paper bag from his hand and sees the stale pieces of bread wrapped inside.

"Oh my God, I was just doing that too," Eden says. "I bought a pretzel and I gave a piece to one of them. They really like to be fed."

A squirrel runs by her feet. Gabriel hands her the bag. "Take it," he says. Eden looks back at him gratefully and pulls out a piece of bread, tossing it on the ground. The squirrel snatches it and runs away.

"You shouldn't do that," someone says, and Eden turns around. She sees an old fat woman in a pink jogging suit glaring at them. "You're spreading disease, you shouldn't be doing that," the woman says.

Eden looks at Gabriel. "She's always here, too," Gabriel says.

The woman scowls at them and waddles away. Eden gives her the finger.

Gabriel starts laughing. "Oh my God!" he says.

Eden realizes what she's doing and she quickly puts her hand down. "Oh God, I'm sorry," Eden says. She stuffs her hands back in her pocket. "Old habit," Eden says, lamely.

"California traffic?" Gabriel asks.

"Something like that," Eden says.

They walk back to Gabriel's shop. It's a long walk back, but Eden doesn't mind. "How often do you go there?" Eden asks.

"All the time," Gabriel says. "I go there whenever things get to be too much. It's my escape. All day I'm surrounded by concrete, and it's really the only place where you can see green."

"So you were having a bad day?" Eden asks. Gabriel stares at the ground.

"Kind of," Gabriel says. "Lately every day seems like a bad day." He smiles at her. He pulls out his keys and unlocks the door to his shop. Eden steps inside and he closes the door behind her.

"It's dark in here," Eden says. Her eyes trace the edges of the clocks on the wall as she rubs her arms with her hands. "You don't have any other light?"

"The lights are already on," Gabriel says, and he motions to the thin white ceiling lamps hanging above her. Eden walks around the shop, drinking everything in. Something gleams in the corner of her eye and Eden looks up. She sees the small fish bowl sitting on top of his bookshelf, a black Betta swimming in hard circles at the bottom of the bowl. "You have a fish," Eden says.

"I do," Gabriel says. Eden leans forward and taps the bowl with her finger.

"What's its name?" Eden asks. Gabriel frowns.

"It doesn't have a name," Gabriel says.

"Didn't anybody tell you? That's bad luck," Eden says. "You have to name it, otherwise it's never really yours." She stands and looks at the clocks, which tick softly in the background.

"I can't believe you're really here," Gabriel says. "I mean, you're in my shop. I didn't think I'd ever see you again." He stands behind the workbench, his fingers trailing on the tabletop. "I--I've been thinking about you a lot, and--"

The cuckoo sings. Eden sees him visibly retreat into himself.

"I got you something," Eden says, quickly. "I wanted to thank you for the other night, and when I saw this, I knew you had to have it." She walks up to the workbench and pulls out the little brown package. "Here," she says. She hands it to him. Gabriel takes it in his hands and carefully unwraps the book. His face lights up, his fingers tracing the letters on the binding.

"This is a first edition," Gabriel says. He looks up at her.

"So you like it?" Eden asks.

"Like it?" Gabriel says. "Eden...I can't take this. This must have been worth a fortune."

"Actually, my boss was going to throw it out," Eden says. "I rescued it from the library donation box a couple days ago."

She watches him carefully leaf through the book, his fingers lightly touching each yellowed page. "One man's garbage," Gabriel murmurs. Eden leans over his work bench.

"What's this?" she asks. She motions to a half-fixed clock on the table top.

"Oh, that," Gabriel says. "That's just something I picked up at the flea market. It's not really worth much," he says.

"It's beautiful," Eden says.

"You think so?" Gabriel asks.

"Yeah," Eden says. She traces the burnished markings with her fingertips.

"I guess today isn't going to be a bad day after all," Gabriel says, softly. Eden smiles. She brushes his hand with the tips of her fingers before looking away.

.

Despite her better judgment, Eden latches onto Gabriel like she did to George in Utah and Bobby in LA. He's her only friend, and she visits him every Saturday. In the morning, she meets him at his shop before they walk out to the waterfront--Brooklyn is the halfway point between Manhattan and Queens, and it seems only appropriate. She tells him about her week and he tells her about his, and when they run out of things to talk about, they rip pieces of bread and toss it on the ground. They share comfortable silences, sharing a park bench in the sunlight and watching the joggers pass by.

"My worst day," Gabriel says. "Wow, it's kind of hard to pick. My life isn't exactly stellar." Eden laughs and bumps against his shoulder.

"I'll tell you my worst day," Eden says. "I was lost in the subway for four hours, that was my worst day."

"That was the day we met, you can't pick that," Gabriel says.

"Too late, I already did," Eden says. "So fess up. What was your worst day?"

Gabriel tears off a piece of bread and tosses it on the ground. A squirrel hunches by his feet, turning the bread over in its paws.

"Once a woman accused me of trying to kidnap her daughter," Gabriel says. "That was pretty bad."

"Oh my God, what happened?" Eden asks. Gabriel stares at the ground.

"I was walking to the train station, and I saw this little girl slip on a patch of ice. She broke her ankle and she was crying. Her mother wasn't around, so I thought I'd take her into my shop and wrap her ankle up. Her mom saw me, and she started yelling that I was a pedophile and that I wanted to rape her daughter. And these cops came over and they started questioning me."

"Jesus," Eden says. Gabriel looks at her, sadly.

"I just felt so...God I don't know. Awful. And I kept thinking how it must have looked to them, this stranger picking up her daughter like that. I don't blame them. I just..." he turns to look at her. "It was pretty bad," he says, softly.

Eden leans against him. She can feel the tightness in his muscles, the strained way he sits. She presses against him and she feels him relax under her arm, feels him lean against her, too.

"Did you go to the park?" Eden asks.

"No, it was wintertime," Gabriel says. "The park was pretty much closed."

"I'm sorry," Eden says. She touches his hand.

.

That night, Eden thrashes in her sleep. She dreams of her mother and of her stepmom's haunted eyes, and she sees the dark, shadowed shape leaping through the air. "They let you down," her mother says, and she grips Eden's shoulders with withered hands. "Don't _ever_ let them let you down."

Eden wakes with a start. Her neck is taut and her shoulders are exhausted, and when she brings a shaking hand to her face, she can feel the wetness of her tears on her skin.

She had been crying all night; she didn't even notice.

Eden wipes her eyes and reaches across the bed, plucking the small white business card from her night stand. _Gray & Sons_, it reads._Brooklyn_. She thinks of the last two years with Bobby, how he had come to her rescue, too. Bobby and his woman's lips and his baby face. Bobby and his unhealthy preoccupation with Leonardo DiCaprio. Eden sighs and rolls onto her back, setting the business card on her chest. He didn't care about her--he didn't give a shit about her. All the men she's been with, every tongue and every cock, it was all the same. Sucking and fucking. It was all she was good for.

Her hand snakes between her legs, a reflexive movement. She can't drink so she touches herself instead, the pressure on her clit more comforting than anything else. She thinks of the last guy she was with, the club anon in the bathroom. The way he shoved her against the wall and fucked her against the sink. Eden closes her eyes. She presses the pad of her middle finger against her clit, rubbing hard. Her breath comes out in tight spurts, and she arches her back, slightly. Her mind jumps back to Bobby and their last night together, and Eden opens her eyes.

She rolls onto her side and stares at the wall. _Fucking cunt_ the club anon said, and at the time Eden had laughed it off, drunk and teetering on six inch stiletto heels. A tear slips down her face, and Eden pulls her hand away. She grips her pillow and listens to the soft sound of her breathing and the sirens that echo outside. Those sirens were also blaring when Gabriel had walked her to her apartment, and she remembers how he pressed her against his side, the top-half of his long body folded over hers.

She slides her hand underneath her shirt, and gently palms her breasts, her collarbone. She thinks of Gabriel's hands and Gabriel's mouth, soft and shy and turning up at the corners. With her eyes closed, she starts touching herself again, rubbing her clit with firm strokes. She thinks of his eyes and the sad, hungry look he gave her, and she rubs herself harder. Her muscles clench tight and her eyes open slightly, and she sees his business card lying on her pillow. She closes her eyes again. She imagines Gabriel behind her, holding her close, his lips on her shoulder. She imagines him pressing his knees against the backs of her legs and his hand reaching over her hip. He would spoon her and masturbate her, and his warm breath would pulse against her cheek. The soft little noises she would make would spur him to rub her harder, and once she orgasms he would flip her over and slip inside her...

Eden comes hard, spasming against her hand. She opens her eyes, breathing hard. She waits until her heartbeat slows, and her eyes regain focus. She wants him, and that makes her afraid. He would be just like everybody else; he would use her, take her and fuck her and throw her away when he was through. And Eden doesn't want that. She doesn't want to be hurt again.

She takes the card in her hand and touches it to her lips. Her mistake with Bobby was that she shared too much; she wouldn't do that with Gabriel. Her past is a precious piece of herself, something to be cherished and kept hidden from the world. She would strip naked and spread her legs, but she would never, ever expose herself. She will wrap herself in a shell of diamond lies, and Sarah Ellis will never see Manhattan.


	19. First Kiss

During the week, Gabriel tries not to think about her. But with the tedium of his days in the shop, there's nothing else to distract him. At night he barely sleeps. He thrashes in the bed and invariably wakes up painfully erect. He refuses to masturbate, though; it seems disrespectful to her.

But then Saturday will roll along and Eden will laugh or smile or look deep into his eyes, and he'll spend that Saturday night with his hand wrapped around his cock, pumping so hard it hurts. And when he comes, the hard sting of his betrayal makes him ashamed, and he spends the rest of the week in solitary penance, hunched over the his clocks and watches, thoroughly disgusted with himself. He knows why she sees him--she's lonely and she's afraid, and intuitively he senses she feels safe when she's with him: he knows that once she's settled, she won't need him anymore.

Now Gabriel leans over his workbench, reassembling a watch. He switches the lens on his eye loupes and gently places the gear back into place with his tweezers. The muscles in his hand cramps, and Gabriel has to stop. He rubs his palm to relieve the achy numbness.

The bell above the door tinkles. Gabriel looks up. Eden waves and walks inside.

"Hi," Gabriel says. "What are you doing here? I thought you had to work?"

"They let me out early, so I thought I'd drop by," Eden says. She peers around his work bench. "What's that?" she asks. She's pointing to the black duffel bag stuffed unceremoniously in the corner.

"Oh, that," Gabriel says. "My landlord turned off my water yesterday--my downstairs neighbors keep complaining of a leak in their ceiling, and they seem to think it's coming from my apartment. I have to go to a hotel for the next few days."

Eden steps closer but Gabriel pulls back. "I didn't shower this morning," he says.

"Really?" Eden asks, and to Gabriel's horror she invades his space and gives him a quick hug. She makes a face.

"You do kind of smell," Eden says. Gabriel is stricken.

Eden starts laughing. "Oh my God, I'm just kidding," Eden says. She lightly touches his chest with her fingertips before dropping her hand at her side. "Why don't you use my shower?" Eden asks. "I'm clean, I've got hot water, and my water pressure is _to die_ for. And you already know where I live, so it shouldn't be a big deal."

Gabriel opens his mouth to speak, but he can't think of anything to say. Eden claps her hands.

"I'm going to take that as a yes," Eden says. She stoops over and picks up his duffel bag, slinging it over her shoulder. Gabriel stares at her, awestruck.

"It's almost five," Eden says. "Just lock up early, we can go right now."

.

The subway ride is agonizing. Without the park and the simple distraction of nature, Gabriel is all too aware of the small, supple body beside him. Eden seems to sense his discomfort, because she touches his arm and leans close. "What's wrong?" she asks.

"Nothing," Gabriel says. "I'm just tired."

They reach Eden's apartment. Eden pulls out her keys and unlocks the door. She pushes the door open but it jams. "It gets stuck sometimes," Eden says apologetically, and she shoves the door in. The door opens with a jerk. She switches the light on, and Gabriel follows her into the apartment.

"So this is it," Eden says. "Chez Eden. It's small, but it's homey. Hopefully it meets your standards."

Gabriel looks around. Her apartment is exactly as he imagined it would be: small and clean and undoubtedly, unmistakably feminine. Below them, he can hear the soft sounds of Spanish coming from the floorboards, and he can just barely make out the scent of baking bread wafting in the room. Across from them, he sees a vase of cut flowers on the end table and two white candles sitting by her couch.

"They're vanilla, do you want me to light them?" Eden asks.

"Oh, no." Gabriel turns around. "Sorry, I was just looking," Gabriel says.

Eden grins. "It's okay, you can look," she says. "This is the living room; over there is the kitchen; and over there is my bathroom, the shower is in there...obviously."

She motions for him to follow her, and she flicks on the light to the bathroom. Gabriel stands just outside the bathroom while Eden stands just inside, opening various drawers before sliding her thumbs into her back jean pockets.

"Towels are in the linen cabinet over here, and there's body wash and a brand new shower poof if you need it," Eden says. "I don't have bars of soap, I only use body wash, so hopefully you won't mind smelling like a girl tonight."

Gabriel imagines Eden naked and wet and lathering her legs with the body wash. The water would trickle down her breasts and her nipples would be pink and erect, and he imagines himself palming her breasts in his hand and rolling her nipples with his tongue.

"Gabe?"

Gabriel blinks. "Sorry, what?"

Eden waves a package of pink razors in front of him. "In case you need to shave," she says. Gabriel flushes hard.

"Have a good shower," Eden says. Eden hands him the package of razors and disappears into the kitchen.

.

Gabriel hurries into the bathroom and closes the door. He's overwhelmed by her scent, and he's glad she can't see how hard he's blushing. The bathroom smells like her--fresh and clean with the hint of lavender. He uncaps a small bottle of lotion and breathes it in. It smells like Eden's skin, but not quite. When Eden wears it there's an unmistakable hint of girl sweat mixed in with the soft scent of flowers.

Gabriel gently sets the lotion back down and begins undressing. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He's far too big for this room. Everything in it is small and delicate, and Gabriel's large dark body overwhelms the pale pink surroundings. He touches his chest self-consciously and quickly steps into the shower.

Gabriel turns on the water and squeezes a little shower wash onto a wash cloth. He gets a whiff of concentrated Eden, the core of her scent sudsing up in his hands. If they were together, she would step into the shower with him. He would pull her close and have her lean against him, her breasts flat against his chest, while he washed her back. The suds would pool down her spine and around her thighs, and he would kiss her deeply before sliding his fingers inside her...

Gabriel is hard.

"Shit!" Gabriel says. He curses under his breath. His stupid fucking penis is goddamn fucking _hard_. He tries to bat it down with his hand.

"Everything okay in there?" Eden's voice coming from the kitchen.

"I'm fine," Gabriel says. He looks back at his erection. He's weeping pre-cum at the tip. "Shit."

Gabriel can't masturbate here. He can't do that. Oh God, if he jerks off in Eden's shower there's no way he would be able to forgive himself.

Gabriel turns off the hot water, and the cold punches him hard. Gabriel's erection wilts. Gabriel bangs his head against the wall. "Jesus," he says. He quickly shampoos and lathers himself up before jumping out of the shower. He dries himself off and dresses quickly, balling up his dirty clothes and stuffing them back in the duffel bag. He prays silently that his face isn't really as red as he thinks it is.

Eden walks into the living room. "Oh hey," she says. She's wiping her hands off with a towel. "Feeling better?" she asks.

"Yeah, thanks," Gabriel says. He touches his hair self-consciously.

"Do you want to stay for dinner?" Eden asks. "It's just leftover lasagna, but I'd love to have the company."

"I...no, I can't," Gabriel says. "You've already been too nice, I don't want to impose."

"No no no, it's no problem at all," Eden says. "I cook too much and I always have to freeze my stuff. See? Look." She walks into the kitchen and opens up the freezer. Gabriel sees dozens of meals labeled and individually wrapped into tin foil; "lasagna, 9/10," one says. "chicken pot pie, 10/14," the other says. They're all small portions, just enough for someone Eden's size to eat. Gabriel smiles.

"I have to date them, otherwise I won't know which is bad or not," Eden says. "I throw out the stuff that's older than three months. You'd think food wouldn't spoil in the freezer, but believe me, it does."

"That lasagna's from September," Gabriel says.

"We can have something else," Eden says. She digs into the freezer. "There's roast beef I made last week--"

"No, Eden, I was just reading, I wasn't saying it didn't look good," Gabriel says.

"So then you're staying?" Eden says. Gabriel's eyes widen.

"I won't take no for an answer," Eden says. "You can help me make the salad. I already thawed out two servings of lasagna anyway, so you don't have a choice."

"Okay..." Gabriel watches her uncertainly. Eden hands him a cucumber and a knife. Gabriel begins chopping absently, watching Eden's hands.

"You don't really cook much, do you?" Eden asks. She pulls up a cutting board and dumps everything into the salad bowl.

"No, I don't," Gabriel says. "I never really had any reason to. Cooking is when you have company over, and I don't really have that much company."

"I don't either, but I still cook anyway," Eden says. "I always cook too much, that's why I have to freeze things. Cooking for one is depressing, so I cook for an army. But then when I'm done it's just me and there's this whole mountain of food on the table. That's why I keep freezing everything."

Her hands are small and delicate and from the way her fingers wrap around the handle of the knife, he knows she has a soft touch. She's standing so close, and Gabriel is overwhelmed. Gabriel's hand slips.

"Oh my God, Gabe," Eden says.

Gabriel had cut his hand. He's bleeding into the vegetables. Eden drops her knife and rushes to him.

"It's not that bad," Gabriel says.

"No, let me see," Eden says.

"No, it's not--"

Eden grabs his hand. It's bad. Blood runs down his palm and into his wrist. Eden pulls him over to the sink and pulls his hand under the faucet; she runs cold water to clean the cut.

"I'm so stupid," Gabriel says. Eden shakes her head.

"Accidents happen," Eden says. She takes a towel and wraps it around his hand. "Keep pressure on it, I'll get a bandage," Eden says. Gabriel stands helplessly as Eden disappears into the bathroom.

Eden comes back with the bandage. She gingerly removes the cloth from Gabriel's hand.

"Ouch," Eden says. She winces sympathetically. She wraps the bandage around his finger. "I don't think you need stitches, but that's a pretty bad cut," Eden says. "I think you'll be okay, though."

They stand awkwardly for a few minutes. Gabriel glances at the counter. "I should probably clean that up," Gabriel says, and he scoops the bloody mess of vegetables into a paper towel and throws in them in the garbage.

The lasagna finishes warming up, and Gabriel makes himself useful by pulling out the plates and setting them on the counter. Eden spoons out the lasagna, unwrapping the tin foil and sliding each piece onto the plate. They both take a plate and head into the living room. Eden doesn't have a real dining room table, so they sit on the sofa. Eden curls her legs underneath herself and eats with the plate by her chin. Gabriel watches her, fascinated. He loves the way her mouth moves, the way her lips close around her fork. There's a warm silence between them, and Gabriel feels he can watch her eat the rest of the night.

Eden finishes her piece and dabs her mouth with a napkin. "Did you like it?" Eden asks.

"I loved it," Gabriel says.

"Do you want to stay?" Eden asks. "We can rent a movie or something--"

"I can't," Gabriel says. "I have to be up early tomorrow, I..." He stares at his hands. "I can't," he says.

Eden pulls back. "Well, come for dinner tomorrow, then," Eden says. "You can use the shower again and I'll cut up the salad--you can do something less dangerous next time."

"Oh, no, Eden--"

"No, come," Eden says. "I get lonely eating all by myself. It's nice when you're here. Doesn't make me feel so much like a loser when someone else is eating on the couch. Actually..." Her face brightens. She stands up and runs over to the kitchen. Gabriel follows her. "You can have some of my leftovers," Eden says. She starts pulling out the tin foil pieces and sets them on the counter.

"Oh no, I couldn't," Gabriel says.

"Yes, yes, you should," Eden says. "I don't like the idea of you not cooking. What do you eat?"

"Boiled eggs. Soup..."

"Exactly," Eden says. She pulls out a little plastic bag from a drawer and starts piling the food inside. She hands him the bag. "For when your shower's fixed," she says.

Gabriel's face falls. He knows what she's saying: this is temporary. This isn't going to become a nightly thing...

"This is what we'll warm up when we have dinner at your place," Eden says.

Gabriel's throat tightens. She steps closer and presses the food against his chest. Wordlessly, Gabriel takes the leftovers from her, and his fingers brush against her hand.

"I should get going," Gabriel says. He doesn't move.

"Yeah," Eden says. She breaks away. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow then," she says. They stand awkwardly in the kitchen before Eden moves to the door. She unchains the lock.

"Bye," Eden says.

"Bye," Gabriel says. He starts to leave.

"Wait," Eden says. Gabriel stops and turns.

"You forgot your duffel bag," Eden says.

Disappointment knifes through him, and Gabriel smiles weakly. "Thanks," Gabriel says. He sets the leftovers back down on the end table. He steps back into the living room and unzips the bag, tucking in the leftover food with his dirty clothes. He stands back up and nearly runs into Eden, who had walked up behind him.

"Sorry," Gabriel says. "I didn't mean--"

"It's okay," Eden says. They're standing too close, and Gabriel can feel the heat of her body radiating from her. She touches his hand. They share a look, and Gabriel's breath catches in his chest. Eden makes a movement to kiss him, but she pulls back.

She turns and puts the chain back in the lock.


	20. Their First Time NC17

Eden guides Gabriel to the couch, and they sit facing each other, their knees touching. She presses a hand to his thigh and leans forward, and he dips his head a little to kiss her. Their foreheads bump and Gabriel jerks back. Eden clamps a hand firmly around his waist and tries to kiss him again. Gabriel moves too fast and his glasses knock into Eden's cheek. Eden starts laughing.

"Oh my God, Gabe!" Eden laughs. She reaches an arm around his waist and draws him closer. "You're nervous," Eden says, and she looks up at him with large eyes. Gabriel shies away. Eden touches his face, guides him to looking back at her.

"Don't be nervous," Eden says, softly. "You have me."

Gabriel seems overwhelmed. The rims of his eyes darken and the lines of his face become drawn. "Gabe," Eden says. She hugs him tight and presses quick kisses up and down the side of his jaw. "Gabe, Gabe, it's okay."

"I'm sorry," Gabriel says.

"It's okay," Eden says.

"I'm sorry," Gabriel says again, and his voice weakens slightly. Eden strokes his face and settles her body against him. Gabriel takes a breath and hitches her closer to him, pressing his face tight against the crook of her neck. Eden moves a little and reaches up to kiss him again.

"I can't believe this is happening," Gabriel says. "I haven't been with anyone in so long..." Eden hugs him tighter.

"When was the last time?" Eden asks, softly. Gabriel exhales slowly.

"Years ago," Gabriel says. Eden rubs his back.

"Well, it's just like riding a bike," Eden says. "You never really forget."

Gabriel starts shaking. For a moment Eden thinks he's crying, but then she realizes he's trying not to laugh. "What?" she asks.

"This is just so absurd," Gabriel says. He's laughing softly against her.

"What? Why?" Eden asks.

"I never learned how to ride a bike," Gabriel says. Eden starts laughing.

"Oh my God, you're shitting me!" Eden says. Gabriel shakes his head.

"No, I'm not," Gabriel says. "Now I don't know whether to be comforted or extra nervous!"

Eden cracks up. They're both laughing now, holding each other close. Eden reaches up and kisses him deeply, and this time it's perfect. His lips part and she can feel his tongue slip softly in her mouth. She flattens against him, feeling his hands slowly gliding up and down the curve of her back. She kisses him deeper, and she feels him start to harden.

"Oh God! I--" Gabriel jerks back, his face reddening. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean--"

"No, it's okay," Eden says. She presses deliberately against him. "It's a good thing." She pulls at his shoulders and kisses him deeply.

Eden's never been in a situation like this. Seduction for her has always gone in a very linear path. Kissing, then touching, then rubbing, then coming. With Gabriel it starts and stops, the both of them one moment moving toward that familiar path, and the next, hugging and laughing like a couple of teenagers. Throughout all this, though, Eden can't stop touching him. Her hands slide up and down the flat plane of his back before reaching lazily between his legs.

"You're still hard," Eden says. Gently, she thumbs the tip of his erection through the stiff material of his pants. Gabriel's breath becomes shallow and labored.

"The bedroom's over there," Eden says, softly. Gabriel tightens his grip around her.

They stumble onto her bed. They lie on their sides facing each other, Eden's leg draped over Gabriel's hip. As they kiss he starts grinding his erection against her clit. Eden's hands slide up and under the inside of his sweater, skimming it up his back and over his head. His glasses catch on the soft material. Eden starts laughing. "Sorry," Eden says. Gabriel yanks the sweater off and the glasses clatter on the floor.

"Here, let me get them," Eden says, and she rolls to the other side. Just as she reaches down to pick up his frames, she feels Gabriel pull her back up and drape his body across hers. Eden laughs. "Wait, I need to put these back," she says. He kisses her shoulder. She reaches around him and sets his glasses on the nightstand.

Eden rolls onto her back and Gabriel pulls her body flush against his. Eden is pleased; he's more comfortable now, and he's kissing her deeply. With one hand, Eden undoes the top button of his pants and zips down his fly. Gabriel groans. Eden grabs the waist of his pants and tugs them down. As she skims off his pants she moves to the level of his hips. She thumbs the edges of his underwear, tugging slightly on the elastic waistband. Gabriel gasps, and Eden can see a spot of wetness seeping through the material. Her lips part slightly and she dips down and kisses the tip of his erection through the thin fabric, making Gabriel's hips jerk. She looks up at him and smiles, and then skims his underwear down. She takes his erection into her mouth.

"Eden..." Gabriel says. She bobs her head slightly, her tongue rolling on the underside of his glans. She grips his ass and licks the length of his shaft, and she can feel him shaking from the stimulation.

"Stop," Gabriel says. "Stop, stop."

Eden pulls her head back with an audible pop, and she lies back on her side, facing him. She kisses the side of his neck while her fingers undo the buttons on his shirt. There are too many buttons, and Eden's impatient. She starts frantically ripping down the front of his shirt, and she nearly cries when she sees the wifebeater staring at her.

"You have too many layers!" Eden says. Gabriel starts to laugh. He takes off the wifebeater.

Eden sits up on her knees and pulls her own shirt off over her head, dropping it unceremoniously on the ground. She unhooks her bra and tosses it to the side, and she flops back down on her back and wriggles out of her jeans. Gabriel sits up and tugs them down, Eden lifting her hips while he pulls her panties off her legs. They're both naked now, and they collapse on top of each other, kissing skin-to-skin.

Eden feels his erection slap against her thigh, and she groans, tilting her hips. Gabriel shifts his position and rubs the head of his penis against her entrance, pressing slightly inside her. He kisses the side of her neck and lets his lips trail down to her collarbone while his other hand palms the fleshy underside of her breast, his thumb making hard circles around her nipple. Eden whimpers, and he takes that as a cue to dip down and take her nipple into his mouth, his tongue laving that sensitive circle of skin. He lifts his head up and blows on it softly, and Eden cries out and presses her hips harder into him. Gabriel switches positions and moves to the other breast, tonguing the other nipple just as hard. Eden's hips twitch, and Gabriel draws a wet line down her abdomen with his tongue. He kisses her belly, then moves to kiss the side of her hip, and he looks up at her and catches her eye before dipping down and pressing his mouth against her clit.

Eden cries out. Gabriel tongues her with firm strokes, his hands gripping her ass. Eden's stomach quivers and her thighs tighten around Gabriel's side. "Mmm," Gabriel hums, and Eden jerks. He smiles against her clit and laps up her juices, his tongue drawing a hard line from her entrance back to that sensitive pinpoint of flesh where all of her nerves seem to be concentrated. The tension builds up until Eden finally bursts, her whole body spasming hard. She's just barely conscious when Gabriel slips two fingers inside her and coaxes out a quicksilver second orgasm, her nerves pulled taut like tripwire to a bomb.

Gabriel crawls back on top of her, and Eden is covered with a thin film of sweat. Slowly, Eden guides him inside her. The head of his penis slowly stretches her, and Eden tilts her hips, taking him further inside her. Gabriel presses his forehead against her shoulder and slides further in. Eden groans, feeling herself spasm wetly around him. Once he's inside, Gabriel doesn't move; he stills himself, waits for her to accommodate him. Eden cranes her neck and kisses him softly, and he moves his hips a little, forcing a small cry escape from her lips.

Gabriel starts to thrust. He moves in long strokes, making Eden groan. She clasps his back and presses her mouth against his neck, rocking her hips to push him farther inside. "Gabe," she says, and he thrusts harder. "Oh God, Gabe!" She moves her hips faster, forcing the air out of his lungs. Her hands press hard into his back. "Gabe, please!"

He thrusts harder. Eden cries out. She claws at his shoulders and tilts her hips. He's thrusting faster now, and he grabs Eden's hips and rolls her on her side. They're lying on their sides facing each other, her top leg is draped over his hip, and Eden's eyes pop open: she's never had sex like this before.

He grabs her ass and starts pumping into her furiously. Eden shrieks--he's hitting a spot she's never felt before. He thrusts harder and Eden cries out. Her arms tighten around him as he pumps, his face buried into her shoulder. He pumps and she slaps her hips into his, and they move faster and faster until she rockets to orgasm and explodes, her hands clawing into his back. Gabriel lets out a strangled cry. She feels him tense, and she feels him coming hard inside her.

Gabriel collapses on top of her, and Eden hugs him tight. No one's ever made her come during sex before. With Bobby, she always had to masturbate herself to completion, or else beg him for oral, which he didn't always do. And the other men, the random bar anons who came and went, most of them twitched and spasmed on top of her and promptly passed out before she could find release. She touches Gabriel's forehead, which shines with a fine sheen of sweat. He lifts his head up slightly, and opens his eyes.

"Hi," Eden says. Gabriel smiles against her breast.

"Hi," Gabriel says. He's soft but he's still inside her. Neither of them wants to move.

Eden's breathing slows, and her heartbeat, which was thundering in her ears, is now reduced to a low rumble. She feels Gabriel's breathing deepen, and she wonders idly if he's falling asleep.

"No one's ever made me come like that before," Eden says, softly. She gently touches his hair. "In fact, no one's ever made me come, period. I always had to get myself off."

Eden looks at his face. His eyes blink open and he watches her silently. She shifts his weight against her chest.

"How did you know to put me on my side?" Eden asks. "That felt really good. I've never done it that way before."

Gabriel kisses her throat. "It was the way you were tilting your hips," he says, softly. "You kept tilting toward the side, so I just moved you. It's nothing special," he says.

"It was amazing," Eden says. Gabriel smiles softly and Eden kisses him on the mouth, their lips parted slightly. She touches the tip of his tongue with hers, and she settles against his shoulder. "Tomorrow's Saturday," Eden says, softly. She smiles and fluffs his hair. "We can spend all day with each other, if you want."

"I'd like that," Gabriel says. He closes his eyes and smiles. They kiss one more time before falling asleep.


	21. Spending the Night NC17

Eden feels the sheet slowly being pulled down, and she feels her breasts suddenly exposed to the cool air. Eden stirs. The sheet is quickly tugged back up, and for a few minutes there's no other movement. Eden opens her eyes and looks at the clock. 3 AM. She stretches and turns to face Gabriel, whose eyes are closed. Eden takes his hand and presses it against her breast. "You can touch them if you want," she says, and Gabriel flushes, embarrassed.

"Sorry," Gabriel says. "I didn't want to wake you."

"Too late," Eden says. She smiles and flattens her naked body against him, burying herself against his neck. "You're so warm," she says, and she feels him hoist her up slightly before wrapping his arm around her waist. She kisses the side of his jaw and closes her eyes.

She feels Gabriel move slightly, and she lets out a small sound of disappointment when she feels his chest pull back from hers. But then she feels his hand gently cup her breast, and his fingers tweaking her nipple. Eden opens her eyes and sees Gabriel staring at her breasts with a small smile on his face, as if he's studying a clock or a watch.

Gabriel lets out a small laugh. "Look," he says, and he spreads his fingers out. The span of his hand is so large he can touch one nipple with his thumb and the other with his little finger. Eden shrieks, laughing. "Stop!" she says. She bats his hand away.

Because they're both fully awake, Eden gets up and roots around for a spare toothbrush while Gabriel takes another shower. They share the bathroom; she brushes her teeth while he disappears behind the shower curtain, and after he finishes and she hands him the extra toothbrush, they switch. Eden pads around the apartment in nothing but an oversized T-shirt, and Gabriel leaves his shirt unbuttoned, exposing his wifebeater. They head back to the bedroom where Eden curls up on her side and Gabriel spoons her from behind, kissing her shoulder.

"It's really early," Eden says. The clock reads 3:30 AM. She feels Gabriel nod against her back.

"We went to bed around seven, that's probably why," Gabriel says.

"Really?" Eden asks. Eden shifts her body weight to look at him. Gabriel smiles.

"It was right after dinner," Gabriel says.

"You weren't going to stay," Eden says. She lazily drags a finger across the top of the wifebeater. She catches his eyes and smiles. "I'm glad you did," she says.

"Me too," Gabriel says, softly. He touches the side of her face.

.

The Spanish bakery is open; Eden can hear them moving around below her. "You wanna get breakfast?" Eden asks. "I could make pancakes if you want. Or there's the bakery downstairs. I've never tried it, but it's probably good."

"I'm fine," Gabriel says. He smiles softly, stroking her face with the tip of his finger. "Unless you're hungry. We can try that bakery downstairs..."

"I am kind of hungry," Eden says. Gabriel sits up.

"No," Eden says, and she presses a hand to his chest, pushing him back down. "Let's lie here for a second."

The hold each other for a few more minutes, then Eden sits up and pulls on a pair of pants. Gabriel presses a hand to the small of her back as they head outside, as if guiding her in front of him. It's still dark out, and their feet clatter down the metal steps. Gabriel opens the bakery door and lets Eden step inside first.

Inside the bakery, the walls are painted bright red and the floor is checkered black and white. There are small black tables and chairs up in the corners of the shop, and the glass display case gleams under the ceiling lights.

Eden gets a large Spanish pastry--a budín de pan, which she butchers when she orders--and they take it back to Eden's apartment. She splits it in half with a knife and hands Gabriel a piece, and they sit and eat quietly, listening to the movement of the bakers below them.

Eden makes coffee and smiles apologetically when she shows Gabriel her instant tea bags. "I don't really drink tea, I just have the microwavable kind," she says.

Gabriel smiles. "It's okay," Gabriel says. "I don't have a coffee maker."

They finish eating and clean up quietly, Gabriel washing the dishes while Eden puts away the leftovers. There's really nothing left to do but make love again, and within minutes they're both naked again and touching hungrily in bed. Once again, Gabriel grabs her hip and rolls her to the side, and Eden's orgasm is so strong she nearly pushes the both of them off the bed. They lie together satiated, bathing in a warm silence, and Eden drifts off back to sleep.

.

"I wonder how many times I can make you come?"

Eden turns to look at Gabriel's face. She had slept for about an hour, and when she woke up again, neither of them had spoken, they just held each other quietly instead. This is the first time Gabriel has spoken for a few hours.

"What do you mean?" Eden asks. Gabriel shifts her closer to him.

"I read once that when a woman reaches climax, she has the capacity to stay at that threshold indefinitely," Gabriel says. "Men have a refractory period once they orgasm, but women don't, that's why they can have multiple orgasms. I was just wondering, if I get you at that threshold, how many times can I make you come? More than once, right? So long as you're stimulated?"

"Um." Eden licks her lips. "I might get tired," she says. Gabriel smiles.

"Well what about in ten minutes?" Gabriel asks. "How many orgasms do you think you can have?"

"I..." Eden starts to laugh. "God I don't know. I've never done it that way," Eden says.

"I'd like to see," Gabriel says. He touches her hip. "Is it okay if I try?"

"Sure," Eden says. She laughs nervously. "What are you going to do?"

"Well," Gabriel says. "I'd like to do oral first, because that seems to be the quickest way to get you to climax. And after that I'd switch to my hand, because that way I can keep an eye on the alarm clock and time the ten minutes." He's speaking in an academic tone, as if he's describing some sort of laboratory experiment. But at the same time his hand starts stroking her leg, making absent circles on her skin. Eden lets out a shuddery breath.

"I could probably just keep doing oral, I have a pretty good sense of time," Gabriel muses. "But I want it to be as accurate as possible. I'd rather we had a clock with a second hand, but I guess the alarm will do."

Eden flushes. "Okay," she says. Gabriel positions himself between her legs.

"You ready?" he asks. Eden laughs nervously.

"Do I have a choice?" she asks. She's already unbelievably aroused.

"Okay," Gabriel says, and he bends forward and gently starts lapping her clit. Eden's hips jerk. Gabriel palms her ass and presses her closer, his tongue moving in hard strokes. Eden's breath tightens. Gabriel presses harder, and Eden comes hard, crying out as she spasmed against Gabriel's mouth.

Gabriel slips two fingers inside her and presses the pad of his thumb against her swollen nub. "Okay, I'm going to time it now," Gabriel says. He presses his thumb down and Eden comes again, hard and unexpectedly. Her mouth pops open and she stares at him with wide eyes.

"That was unexpected," Gabriel says. "That's two."

"Oh God," Eden says, and she presses her face against Gabriel's chest. He curls his fingers into a C and digs hard into her wall, moving in short, vertical strokes. "Gabe, I...I think..."

She comes again. And again, and again. Twelve orgasms later, Gabriel withdraws his hand and smiles. "That was informative," he says.

"Jesus," Eden says. She gives a shaky laugh.

Gabriel kisses the side of her face, his erection gently pressing against her thigh. Eden moves to take him inside of her, but Gabriel softly takes her wrist and moves her hand back up.

"You're tired," Gabriel says. "You don't have to."

"That's not really fair to you, though," Eden says.

"I'll be okay," Gabriel says. Eden smiles at him and kisses his neck, then the side of his shoulder. She kisses his side and his stomach, and she takes his erect penis into her hand and gently laves the tip. Gabriel sighs. His penis is swollen and weeping, and Eden trails her tongue along the head before dipping her head forward and bobbing slightly.

"Eden," Gabriel says. His voice is thin and he's breathing hard. "I...I'm going to..."

Gabriel cries out, losing control. He comes and Eden swallows, closing her eyes.

Eden shifts her body back up to face-level with Gabriel, and she daintily wipes her mouth and smiles. Gabriel pulls her close and she presses her face against his chest, her arm resting across his back. She starts to fall asleep.

.

Before Gabriel met Eden, he would often work late, working on a watch to make sure it would be done by morning. His regulars have come to expect it, and sure enough one of his customers from a few years back remembered him and his speedy service, and she comes to his shop with a complicated Swiss timepiece and demands for it to be fixed by the morning. The hours pass and Gabriel looks at the time, dismayed. Eden finally calls when he doesn't show up.

On the phone, Eden asks, "Can't you take it with you?"

"I can't," Gabriel says. "I'm in the middle of reassembling it. If I take it on the subway, it'll jar the pieces."

"How long do you think you'll be?"

"I don't know," Gabriel says, miserably. It's ironic; before Gabriel met Eden, he welcomed the long nights; it gave him something to do, something to occupy his mind. Now that he has Eden, his customer base seems to have increased exponentially.

"Well, do you mind if I come up there? I miss you," Eden says.

Gabriel's throat tightens. "I miss you too," he says, softly. He had only seen her just this morning, but it feels like it's been years.

In the shop, it's dark inside except for the small lamp by Gabriel's bench and the light from the street lamps outside. The light falls on her throat and by the tops of her breasts, which peak out from the V-neck of her blouse. Gabriel leans back from his workbench and watches her read. He watches her hands softly turning the pages, listens to the soft rustle of paper and the sound of her breathing.

Eden looks up at him. Her lips part, just a little. "What?" she asks.

Gabriel shakes his head. "Nothing," he says. He taps his tweezers against the bench and smiles.

An hour later, they walk down the street. It's late and they're the only ones walking down the sidewalk, their footsteps echoing around them. It's windy and Eden presses herself against Gabriel's side. He wraps his arm around her shoulder and pulls her close. In the subway, Gabriel stands behind her while she stands next to the pole. The train rocks and she sways a little, but he's there to steady her. They go to Gabriel's apartment; he only reassembled the watch enough so that it won't jar on the subway, but it's still far from finished. He sets the watch on the counter and promptly ignores it.

They make love on a bed that's too small in a room that's lined with books. He told her once that he would gladly get a bigger bed, but Eden wouldn't hear of it. The idea of the two of them crowded together in his solitary twin made her smile; it was a way of leaving her mark, of stamping out his loneliness and replacing it with her.

When her breathing evens, he knows she's fallen asleep. He presses his face against the nape of her neck. She has a sweet smell, like honey or vanilla, and when he kisses her skin, he can almost taste it. She stirs and he hugs her tight. She feels soft and warm in his arms.

.

"You have a lot of books," Eden says.

Gabriel's fingers trace a line across her collarbone, the hollow of her neck. Eden turns to look at him.

"You've read all of these?" Eden asks. Gabriel nods and presses his lips to her shoulder.

"What are they about?" Eden asks.

"Lots of things," Gabriel says. "Art. Philosophy. Everything."

Eden takes his hand and laces her fingers between his. "I don't think I've ever seen you read," Eden says.

Gabriel smiles. "You've been keeping me busy," he says.

"I've been making you stupid," Eden says.

Gabriel hugs her. "It's okay, I don't mind," he says.

Eden hits his arm and laughs. "You're not supposed to say that," she says.

"What am I supposed to say?" Gabriel asks.

"You're supposed to talk about how lonely you were without me," Eden says. "How without me, your life would be completely empty."

"That's not true, I had my mom," Gabriel says.

"Oh my God," Eden says.

"She was pretty sexy in her day--actually, you look a lot like her."

"Oh my God, _stop_!"

Eden is laughing. She touches his face. Gabriel smiles and kisses the tips of her fingers. Eden's smile fades. Her face is flushed and her hair is tangled, and she looks up at him with wide brown eyes.

Her lips part and he kisses her gently, just barely grazing the tip of her tongue. His hands palm the cool skin of her hips, slides its way to the small of her back.

"Gabe," she says, and he moves inside her. The soft little sounds she makes come out like sobs.

.

Nothing changes. Gabriel still wakes up at 6 AM to make the commute from Queens to Brooklyn; he still sits alone in the shop until 5 PM. And when he comes home, he makes his tea and he reads the newspaper, and he does the crossword puzzles in black ink. The only difference now is that there's another body in his space, a warm silence that fills the room. She pads around barefoot in his apartment, goes to the other room to knit or read. Sometimes, when she's not looking, he'll watch her rub lotion on her legs, tracing the smooth skin of her neck and shoulders with his eyes. She caught him staring once, and she smiled.

"You wanna help?" she asked. Gabriel shook his head.

"I'm working on something, maybe later," Gabriel said.

She set the lotion on the coffee table and stood up. "I'm going to bed. Wake me up when you go to sleep, okay?"

"Okay," Gabriel said. It wasn't until she left the room that Gabriel smiled.


	22. Part IV: Letters

**Part IV**

.

Steam rises from the street and floats up into the dark sky. It's cold now, but the sewers beneath him keep belching warm air. Around him, the street lamps glow orange, and the light glances off the wet concrete. They're predicting snow soon, and Gabriel concurs. It's cold outside and the air is polluted with smoke, giving ample amounts of dust and dirt on which the water vapor can crystallize. That's the one thing about snow most people don't realize: if the air is clean, the water vapor will hover above the earth like a cloud. It's not until the air is kicked up with dust and dirt that snow will start to fall.

Gabriel walks along the long chain fence, following Norfolk down to Rivington. It was another late night at the shop, and Gabriel had told Eden to go ahead and have dinner without him. He didn't want her traveling all the way to Brooklyn this late again, so he agrees to just meet her when he's done. He sees the Spanish bakery and the dark green awnings on the front, and above him, he sees the thick square of yellow light peaking through the red brick. Eden's bedroom. Gabriel heads inside.

Gabriel walks up the stairs and to Eden's door. He can hear music coming from inside. "Eden?" Gabriel unlocks the door and tosses his coat on the sofa. The music is coming from the bedroom, where Eden is sprawled on her stomach, writing on the bed. She's wearing one of his button-down shirts and nothing else; she kicks her bare legs behind her back.

Gabriel comes up to the bed and kneels beside her. "What are you doing?" he asks.

"Christmas cards!" Eden says. "They were selling packs of them at the drugstore, and they were so pretty, I had to get them."

"But it's only November," Gabriel says.

"Yeah, but you have to start early to make sure it mails in time," Eden says. "Don't spoil my mood, I'm enjoying myself." She picks up a glitter pen and starts writing on a red envelope.

Gabriel peers over her shoulder; she's writing his address. "You're writing me a Christmas card?" Gabriel laughs. "Eden, you see me every day! You should just save yourself a stamp and give it to me now!" He tries to pluck the card out from under her, but Eden smacks his arm.

"Stop!" Eden says, laughing. She pulls the Christmas card away from him and hugs it protectively to her chest. "You'll get it in the mail, just like everyone else," Eden says. "Besides you should be flattered. I only send out Christmas cards to important people."

"Like who?" Gabriel asks. He looks at her stack. "Max Goldstein? The guy who owns the Jewish deli?"

"He gets a Happy Holiday card," Eden says. She catches his hand and pulls him toward her. "And yes, he's important. Remember when I locked myself out of my apartment? His wife was the one who let me use the phone." Gabriel remembers: he was the one Eden had called when she got locked out.

Gabriel kisses her gently and strokes her arm. "How long until you're done?" he asks. Eden shakes her head.

"I've still got a lot of cards to fill out," Eden says. "I want to try and get everything done tonight, if possible. Otherwise I'd just procrastinate."

Gabriel rubs her shoulder. "I'll do some reading in the other room, then," he says.

"Okay," Eden says. Gabriel rocks back on his heels to stand up, but Eden catches his hand. She presses a quick kiss on his fingers before letting go. "Goodnight," she says.

"Goodnight," Gabriel says, and he softly closes the door.

It's a turning point in their relationship. Eden goes about her daily business, and Gabriel goes about his, and Gabriel feels closer to her knowing she's just in the other room. It's almost as if they really live together, and in a way, they already do: they have each other's keys and they're with each other every night. Once Eden's lease is up, Gabriel plans on making it official and ask her to move in with him. That's for another night, though. Her lease won't be up for months.

It's past midnight now, and Gabriel goes back into the bedroom. The radio is blaring but Eden is sleeping on top of the covers; she's lying sideways across the bed, her arms dangling off the edge of the mattress. Gabriel turns off the radio and strokes the side of her cheek. She had kicked the Christmas Cards and the glitter pens on the floor, and uncapped markers are strewn haphazardly on the bed spread. He bends over and starts picking everything up, gathering all her pens and markers into the crook of his arm before picking up Eden's Christmas cards. They're already sealed in red envelopes, so Gabriel shuffles them into a neat stack and palms them in his hands, cradling the glitter pens and the booklet of stamps to his chest.

In the kitchen, Gabriel looks at Eden's Christmas cards. A dozen or so cards all in red envelopes and silver pen: the deli owner, the people at the Spanish bakery. He sees his own name and smiles. She had written "Gabriel Gray" with a little heart at the end:_Gabriel Gray_ ♥. His envelope is the only one she decorated.

He starts thumbing through the cards. They're all New York addresses, none of them for California; what is more, none of the people there are people she knows well. They're all acquaintances: co-workers at the bookstore, the check-out clerks at the flower shop, a couple names here and there he doesn't recognize. Gabriel frowns. Maybe she didn't finish them yet, he thinks. But no. He sees her list of addresses, and all the names are crossed off. She's starved for affection, and it hurts him how much she throws herself at the world. None of those people care about her, Gabriel thinks, bitterly. They probably don't even know who she is.

Gabriel sets the stack of envelopes back down and wanders back into the bedroom. He sees the curved silhouette of Eden's body in the dark, sleeping on top of the bedspread. Gently, Gabriel tugs the sheets out from under her and drapes them over her shoulders. He pulls the sheets back and climbs into the bed, curling his body around her. Eden exhales slowly and turns, pressing her face tight against his shoulder. Gabriel kisses her hair, the nape of her neck. None of those people would love her the way he does, Gabriel thinks. None of them. He'll make sure she'll never feel lonely again.

.

It's starts snowing on a Sunday night, and Eden begs Gabriel to go on a walk with her. The snow falls in large clumps, and Eden looks up, delighted.

"When I was a kid, it used to snow like goose down, just like this," Eden says. Gabriel looks at her oddly. "I wish I had a camera, it's so beautiful out here. It reminds me of home," Eden says.

Gabriel is confused. To his knowledge, Costa Verde was in southern California, a suburb of LA; he didn't think it snowed there. Eden's caught up in a memory, though, and Gabriel knows better not to interrupt.

"Whenever it snowed, my mom would make a huge pot of chili," Eden says. "That's when we'd know it's wintertime--the whole house would just smell like chili and sugar cookies. It was great."

"That sounds nice," Gabriel says.

"It was," Eden says. He sees her face darken a little, but then she looks back up at him and smiles.

They round a corner. A man is sitting on a metal grate, a heavy blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He's sketching frantically with a red crayon; he looks completely strung out, and his long brown hair sticks in greasy strands to his forehead. A street artist, Gabriel thinks. Or maybe a homeless man. It's hard to tell. He takes Eden by the arm and ushers her in front of him. The man glances up.

"Sarah?"

Eden turns and the man steps into the orange light. "Sarah! It's me, Isaac!" The man's face widens into a slack-lipped smile.

"Come on, let's go," Gabriel says. He pulls Eden forward, but Eden doesn't move.

"I'm painting again!" the man says, and he stumbles into a trash can. "I tried without it but I couldn't--"

Gabriel yanks Eden by the arm and pulls down the street.

"Sarah! Where are you going?"

"Hey!" Gabriel says. "Leave her alone!"

"That's my friend Sarah," the man says. He's definitely high, and he staggers on his feet. "I know her from rehab--Sarah! It's me Isaac! I'm not homeless, I live in the loft--"

"It's okay," Gabriel says. He grips Eden's arm. "Just ignore him, it'll be okay."

"Sarah!" the man says. "Sarah! Sarah!"

They escape into the subway below them.

.

Gabriel's never seen anyone cry so hard before. A Christmas card is in her hand, but just barely. It drops listlessly on the floor. "Eden--"

"I need to mail these now," Eden says. Tears are streaming down her face. "I need to send these out now, I might not get them out in time."

"Eden!" Gabriel grabs her and holds her tight. "Leave it alone, I'll take care of it," he says. Eden cries harder.

"It's okay," Gabriel says, and he pulls her close. "I wouldn't let him hurt you. I promise. You're safe, it's okay."

Eden pushes him down and kisses him hard on the mouth. Gabriel's eyes widen. "Eden--"

"Fuck me," Eden says.

"Eden I--"

She slams his shoulders against the couch. "You know you want to," she says. She grinds against his crotch, making him hard. "C'mon," she says, and she grinds harder. "We can fuck all night if you want."

"Eden!" Gabriel says. He pushes her off. "Eden, Jesus, what's gotten into you?"

Eden looks like she's been smacked. She stumbles backward from the couch, her eyes filling with hurt. "I'm sorry," Eden says. Her voice wavers. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"Eden it's okay," Gabriel says, He pulls her into his arms. Eden starts crying again. "Shh," Gabriel says, and he rocks her slowly. "It's okay, I'm here. Shhh, it's okay."

She cries against his chest. Gabriel doesn't know what to do. He doesn't understand why she's so upset. It wasn't anything, it was just some random guy who thought she was someone else. He can usually read her emotions, but this was something completely new for her. _"Fuck me,"_ she said. He didn't understand. It was desperate and violent and completely degrading. Eden needs tenderness. Why would she suddenly change?

"Gabe," Eden says. Her voice is muffled by his shoulder. "Don't leave me, Gabe." And she pulls him closer, sliding her hands down his pants and around his erection, her thumb spreading the wetness at his tip. He gasps at her touch, and there's nothing he can do. There's no shame this time, just pure want and need guiding her hand and pulling him inside her. He doesn't want to fight it, she just wants to forget. And when he looks down at her half-lidded gaze, he can almost convince himself that she will be okay.

.

Eden is asleep, but Gabriel is restless. He wants to talk, but he knows Eden's already been through a lot, and he intuits that now is not the right time to bring this stuff up. She needs to feel safe right now, and confronting her would only push her away. He shifts Eden's weight and looks out into the living room. Eden's Christmas cards are strewn all over the floor. One of them catches his eye:

_Isaac Mendez_, it says. It's a Lower Manhattan address.

Gabriel gently rolls Eden on her side. Eden stirs. Gabriel extricates himself out from under her and watches her bury her face into the crook of the couch. He covers her nakedness with his sweater; then he picks up the Christmas cards and takes them back to the kitchen.

Setting the cards on the table, Gabriel starts shuffling through them again. Not a single card is addressed to anyone in Costa Verde. She's lying, he thinks. She has to be lying. Isaac Mendez's card stares up at him, and Gabriel glances at the tea kettle he bought her sitting on the oven. The steam would peel off the adhesive, and he could glue it back closed after he was done. She would never know.

Gabriel makes the tea. The kettle whistles and he moves the kettle to the second burner, turning down the flame. Gingerly, he holds the envelope up over the spout and lets the steam rise onto the paper, the heat making the envelope flap wrinkle slightly. Gabriel picks up a knife and delicately pries the flap open before tugging the card out. He reads Eden's message:

.

Dear Isaac,

I hope you and Simone are doing well. I miss all of  
you guys from Costa Verde, but you're the only one  
whose address I have. I found it in the phone book.  
Isn't that nuts? Anyway, I'm doing well here. I have  
a boyfriend now and I'm working at a bookstore, so  
things have been looking really good for me. I hope  
things are going well for you, too. Merry Christmas,  
and watch out for New Year's :)

Eden

.

Gabriel feels awful. Eden wouldn't lie to him--why the hell did he think that? Gabriel slips the card back into the envelope. In the living room, he can hear Eden softly switching positions. Gabriel frowns and carefully reseals the flap. His stomach is tight. Poor Eden just got yelled at by a homeless man, and here he is, rifling through her mail. It makes him feel ashamed. Ashamed and relieved. Gabriel will deal with the guilt later, right now he's just happy he was wrong.

Gabriel sees his envelope sticking out from the rest of the pile, the little heart at the end of his name glittering slightly. _I already started, why stop now?_ Gabriel thinks, and he picks up the card and opens it. He reads Eden's message:

.

Dear Gabe,

You're the best thing that's ever happened to  
me. Thank God for my shitty sense of direction!  
Merry Christmas. I love you.

Eden ♥

.

It's short and to the point--there's no reason not to be, she sees him every day. But it's the "I love you" that gets him, and he gently traces the words with his fingers. It's as if she's saying it for the first time again, and Gabriel is overwhelmed. He carefully slips the card back into the envelope and seals it back up.

Eden's still sleeping in the living room, her bare bottom peaking out from under his sweater.

"Eden?" He touches her face.

"Mom?" Eden says. Her voice is thick with sleep.

"Eden it's me. It's Gabriel," Gabriel says.

Eden opens her eyes. They're still swollen from crying and crusted slightly at the edges. Gabriel brushes the corners of her eyes with his thumbs. Something doesn't feel right, and he can't figure out what.

"Come on, let's go to bed," Gabriel says, softly. He gently rolls her to the side. "Come on."

Eden heaves, then rises and stumbles forward, leaning heavily against Gabriel's side like a drunk. In bed, she smiles and sleepily cuddles against him. But Gabriel can't sleep, he just holds her instead, the snow falling and the hours passing into a watery dawn.


	23. A Lack of Trust

The sun is out now, and a thick rectangle of light volleys off the window and into Eden's eyes. Eden takes a long breath and sighs, reaching out a hand toward Gabriel's side of the bed. Her palm presses against cold sheets and an empty pillow.

Eden opens her eyes. The bed is empty.

Eden sits up and winds the sheet around her torso, and she gingerly stands up from the side of the bed and looks around the apartment. "Gabe, are you here?" she asks. Her clothes are still strewn on the living room floor from last night, and in the kitchen, she sees the tea kettle shoved unceremoniously against the corner of the stove top. Her Christmas cards are still lying on the counter, and she sees Isaac's card lying on the top of the pile.

"Oh, shit," Eden says. She picks the card up and turns it over in her hands. The envelope's still sealed.

Eden feels like crying again. She walks around the room in a daze, the bed sheet trailing behind her. Her bare feet pad softly against the cool linoleum, and she stands dully by the vase of flowers on her table, the bright Gerber daisies long ago already wilted. She should have contacted Isaac the moment she realized he was out of rehab and back in Manhattan. She had seen the advertisement in the paper, the resurrection of the _9th Wonders!_, the comic book he had to stop working on when he entered Costa Verde. That's when she looked him up in the phone book.

Eden sits heavily on the couch. She and Isaac had shared the same therapy circle, so she knows his potential for relapse. There were six of them in her group, and when they met, they quite literally sat around in a circle with the therapist sitting among them. She remembers her first day there.

"Today, we're working on trust," her therapist said. "Sarah, what do you think about trust?"

"I don't know," Sarah said.

"Group?" the therapist asked. No one answered.

"Well, I'll tell you what I think," the therapist said, mildly. "I think that Sarah is a very closed off young woman who dealt with a lot of hardship in her life. I believe Sarah wants to reach out and wants to be loved, but she doesn't know how to go about doing that. Would you say that's accurate, Sarah?"

"No," Sarah said.

"Well tell me, Sarah, when you moved to LA, isn't that exactly what you did? Trusted strangers when you shouldn't have?" The therapist looks at her, evenly. "I understand you were sexually promiscuous--doesn't that involve some trust, at least, on a basic level?"

It was true, and Sarah couldn't handle it. Tears sprang to her eyes and Sarah jumped out of her seat, nearly tripping over the trash can on her way out the door. Isaac followed her into the hallway.

"Sarah, wait!"

"No," Sarah said. "No, _bullshit_. Trust my ass, I'm not trusting those fuckers. I did that shit before, and it ended badly. I am NOT putting myself through that again!"

"Sarah--"

"I can't!" Sarah said. "I can't do that again, I won't do that again! I won't let them hurt me. I won't!"

Sarah started to cry while Isaac watched her, helplessly. She paced up and down the hallway, and she could hear the sounds of singing coming from the addicts lounge. They were having a sing-along, music therapy for the odd-numbered groups. They were singing Kumbayah.

"Do you know why I'm here?" Isaac asked, finally. He squatted on the floor. "I'm here because I have a problem. I'm here because I_need_ to be here. And you do too, you just don't realize it."

"But you do heroin, I don't do drugs," Sarah said.

Isaac looked at her evenly.

"Last time I checked, alcohol was a drug too," Isaac said.

"Eden?"

Eden jerks awake. Gabriel is kneeling in front of her, touching her shoulder. She's naked on the couch with the bed sheet still wrapped around her. She had fallen asleep while she was waiting for Gabriel to come back home.

Eden sits up. "Where were you?" she asks.

"I was visiting my mom," Gabriel says. He sits on the couch next to her and leans her against him. "She called while you were asleep. Something was wrong with her stove and so she asked if I could come over and fix it. She invited us for dinner sometime, if you're up to it."

"Yeah," Eden says. "Sure."

Gabriel strokes the calf of her bare leg before pulling her against him. He rests his arm around her waist, and she can feel the warmth of his hand underneath the bed sheet. In the window it's snowing again, and she can see the snow tumbling from the gray clouds.

"I was so worried about you," Gabriel says. "I'd never seen you so upset before."

"I'm okay," Eden says, and she kisses the worry away from his eyes. His hands catch her wrists and he's pulling her down against him, the bed sheet slipping off her shoulders. The room is gray with the grim daylight of the coming snowstorm, and when Eden bends forward, her breasts are shadowed slightly, tops milk white and shadowed gray in the darkening room.

.

Eden visits Isaac's loft the next morning, after Gabriel gets up to go to work. She calls in sick and walks the half dozen blocks or so to the artist's quarter in Lower Manhattan, moving her way through the morning crowd. She reaches his loft and knocks on the door, and when she sees Isaac's face, she waves and smiles.

"Sarah!" Isaac opens the door and Eden pops up on her toes and throws her arms around his neck. Old friends reunited. His face is smudged with paint, and when she moves back down again, she notices the flecks of dried paint on his forearms.

"I'm so sorry about the other night," Eden says. "I didn't mean to ignore you. I wanted to explain what happened, but I didn't get a chance until now."

"What night?" Isaac asks. "I don't know what you're talking about--were you here?" he asks.

Eden stares at him. "I saw you in the street," Eden says. "You...you came at me from a street corner. I thought you were homeless."

"I don't remember that," Isaac murmurs, and he turns and moves slowly into the studio, avoiding Eden's eyes. Eden follows him. "How are you? I didn't know you were in Manhattan."

"Ten months," Eden says. "I didn't know you came back from rehab, otherwise I would have visited you earlier." Isaac was still in rehab when Eden left; he was discharged two weeks before she was, but he relapsed and ended up coming back. He was starting all over again when Eden left.

"Everybody missed you in group," Isaac says. "We got a new girl after you left, a 15 year-old cutter. She hated us--once she even tried cutting herself in the middle of session."

"How?" Eden asks.

"Her nails," Isaac says. "She was scratching her wrist with her nails."

Shadows cross Isaac's face, and behind him, Eden can see the stacks and stacks of finished paintings piled up unceremoniously against the wall. He has a restless energy--an addict's jig--and he prowls around the room, stacking and re-stacking his paintings. "Simone left me," Isaac says, finally. "I got out from rehab and she was seeing this other guy. This _nurse_. I didn't know what to do."

"Isaac I'm so sorry," Eden says.

"So am I," Isaac says. He moves a thick roll of canvas onto the ground and pulls out his artist's portfolio from behind his workbench. "I've been painting a lot more, though," Isaac says. "This is my best work. I should probably thank her--I haven't painted this well since before rehab."

They reminisce quietly about Costa Verde, the orange and white tiled floors and the dry, sterile day rooms in which the addicts sat and chanted. Before each Big Book meeting, where addicts read stories of their addiction like homilies in a church service, they form a circle and clasp hands, chanting the serenity prayer. _Grant me the strength to accept the things I cannot change..._. "God, that was a bunch of bullshit," Isaac says, and Eden laughs, because she knows it's true.

Isaac shows her his paintings, huge panels for his comic book series, characters rendered in the style of Japanese anime, all wide-eyed and brightly colored. What most people don't know is that Isaac is classically trained, can paint a photorealistic portrait so lifelike it can rival the digital photographs that seem to be replacing his art. "It's all technical work, and I'm not interested in that," Isaac says. Eden glances at her watch and realizes she's been in his loft all morning, so she gives him a quick hug and waves goodbye, with promises to keep in touch.

"Promise me you won't shoot up," Eden says. She's standing at the doorway.

"I can't promise you I won't, but I definitely will try," Isaac says.

Eden nods. "Okay," she says, and she hugs him again. "It was good to see you," she says.

"You too," Isaac says.

And she turns and walks back down the street, happy to have found her friend.

.

Gabriel sits in his shop, thinking about their relationship. Things were tense the last few days, but for now, things seem to have gotten back to normal. After the debacle with the homeless man, Eden had been acting strangely, casting him furtive glances and fidgeting with her hands. On first glance, nothing seemed to have changed: they still met every night and spent time together, but increasingly Gabriel noticed a distance between the two of them that really wasn't there before. Sitting in the shop, Gabriel tries to analyze the topography of their relationship, tracing and re-tracing the peaks and valleys of the past few days in his mind. Really, there isn't much he can conclude other than the fact that he's probably being paranoid, that Eden is just going about her business, and that his tendencies toward suspicions and jealousy were blowing a one-time incident into something greater than it really was.

But still. In the lonely hours in his shop, away from people and with only his thoughts to keep him company, Gabriel can still see Isaac Mendez's address floating in his mind. The homeless man had also said his name was Isaac. All he has to do is knock on the door and see if they're the same person.

But Gabriel trusts Eden. He prides himself on that. He thinks of her wide eyes and the way she buries her head against his side, and he knows she trusts him, too. She wouldn't do anything to hurt him. She wouldn't.

Eden stays in his apartment tonight. Again, she's wearing one of his old button-down shirts, lying on her stomach and her bare legs curled in the air. A pen is in her mouth and she flips a packet of paper in front of her. Her brow is furrowed, slightly.

"What are you doing?" Gabriel asks. He sits down beside her.

"Paperwork," Eden says. "It's for next year's lease."

Gabriel glances over her shoulder. "That seems really involved for a lease renewal," Gabriel says.

"Well, my apartment is subsidized," Eden says. "Every year I have to prove that my income is less than twenty percent above poverty level, so I have to send them copies of my W2 form and my tax returns, not to mention all my assets--which by the way, are zero--and if I don't meet their criteria, they don't renew my lease."

"That seems complicated," Gabriel says.

"It's a pain in the ass more than anything," Eden says. She rolls onto her back and pulls Gabriel down beside her. She faces him on her side. "Hi," she says. She kisses him and drapes her bare leg across his hip.

"I love it when you're here," Gabriel says. "You give me easy access."

"Shut up," Eden laughs. She kisses him again, deeper this time, her pelvis pressing against his groin. Gabriel slides a hand up her thigh and feels the smooth skin of her ass under his palm.

"You're not wearing underwear," Gabriel laughs.

"Easy access," Eden says, and she kisses him again.

.

"Oh no," Eden says. She frantically flips through the pages. "Oh no, no, no,"

"What's wrong?" Gabriel asks. Two weeks have passed and they're sitting in Eden's living room; Eden had been sorting through her mail.

"I didn't get approved," Eden says. She throws the papers on the floor. "Oh my God, I didn't get approved."

"Wait, back up, approved for what?" Gabriel asks.

"My apartment!" Eden says. She wildly gathers up the papers again. "They're not going to renew my lease. My income's too high now. I have to vacate in thirty days."

"Are you sure?" Gabriel asks. He takes the papers from her.

"Oh my God, what am I going to do?" Eden says. She starts to cry.

"Hey," Gabriel says. He pulls her close. "Hey, it's going to be alright. You can stay with me. Don't worry, we'll figure this out."

"But where am I going to find an apartment?" she asks. "Everything in Manhattan is at least a grand a month, and I just don't make that kind of money. And I don't want to live somewhere else, I'll just get lost."

"Eden," Gabriel says. "Why don't you stay with me?"

Eden looks up at him. Tears are rolling down her face.

"Move in with me," Gabriel says. "I've been thinking about it for a long time, and I think this could be the next step. You won't have to worry about rent, I'll take care of it. And I have an extra room where you can put your things..."

"I don't know if that's a good idea," Eden says.

"Why not?" Gabriel asks. "We spend all our time together anyway, and you know how to get back and forth between Manhattan and Brooklyn. We can take the subway together to Queens. I know it's a little soon, but honestly I've been thinking about it for a while, and I think this could be a sign. We could really move things forward."

He watches Eden's face for any signs of excitement or worry, but her face is a mask, and he knows she's mentally rehearsing her words.

"I just don't think it's a good idea," Eden says. Gabriel can't look at her, he can only look at his hands. Eden touches his arm.

"Gabe, no, it's not like that," Eden says. "I want to live with you, I really do, but I can't trust myself to make the right decisions when it comes to stuff like this. I lived with someone before, and I thought he was a sure thing; when we broke up, it was the worst thing that ever happened to me. I lost my best friend, and not only that, I lost my apartment. Do you know how hard it was, trying to find a place when you've just been dumped? I told myself I'd never put myself in that position again..."

She looks her hands, her hair falling by her throat.

"It isn't an escape route," Eden says, softly. "It's a safety net. I just don't want to get hurt," she says.

Gabriel doesn't like that look in her eyes, that dull ache that's building up around the corners. Eden leans against his chest and he holds her tight; he wonders briefly what he has to do to make her trust him.

.

They reach a compromise. Eden will stay with him while she looks for another apartment, and if she feels comfortable enough, she'll just stay with him permanently. Gabriel is at once happy and terrified. Happy to see her things, happy to see her waking next to him. But also terrified that she'll decide to leave. They'll still be together, but it'd be taking a step backwards. Gabriel doesn't know if he can handle it. She hasn't even moved in yet, and Gabriel is preparing himself for her leaving.

"I think I found a place," Eden says. She's reading the classifieds section in the newspaper, and she circles the apartment address with a red pen. They're sitting in her apartment, which is in various stages of being packed. Cardboard boxes are stacked up in the living room, and everything is wrapped and put away except her clothes and her cooking utensils, which are still in the kitchen. Eden plans on cooking until the day she moves, so there really is no point in packing those up, now. "It's only $800 a month. It's a sublet, but that shouldn't be that bad. I can just find another place afterwards," Eden says.

Gabriel grips his tea and tries to smile. "That's great," he says, but his voice sounds hollow. Gabriel was never able to fake enthusiasm all that well.

Eden touches his arm. "Hey," she says. She rubs his arm and scoots closer to him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Gabriel says. He smiles at her sadly. "I'm just glad you've finally found a place."

"Gabe." Eden hugs him tight. "You're acting like we'll never see each other. You'll see me every night. It's just that I'll have another place to keep my stuff."

"I know," Gabriel says. "I know, I'm just...I feel like we practically live together anyway. I just don't like where this is going."

"It'll work out," Eden says. "If it's meant to be, we'll get married and have a ton of babies and grow old and senile together. Okay?" She gives him a quick kiss. "Okay?"

Gabriel thinks of the last few days, and how distant Eden seemed. He thinks of the homeless man and the strange, disconcerted feeling he had that night afterward.

"Okay," Gabriel says. There's nothing more he can do.


	24. Conflict

"I think you should move in with him," Isaac says.

Eden is in Isaac's loft, watching him paint. She watches him moving his arm with long strokes, the paint streaking across the canvas. Dribbles of paint drip down on the floor. "You love him, he loves you, I don't see what the problem is," Isaac says.

"I'm meeting his mother tonight. I've never been so nervous," Eden says. "His mom is supposed to be really domineering. I don't know what I'd do if she didn't like me."

"Bake her a pie," Isaac says. He's not looking at her, he's brushing on the canvas. His fingers are covered in black paint. "Moms love pie. It's a guaranteed in."

"I'm just nervous because Gabriel's been acting so weird lately," Eden says. "Maybe I should move in with him. I'm just worried because I've done that before, and it didn't work out. I don't want to get hurt again."

"Wait a minute, are you talking about Bobby?" Isaac asks. "The kid with the hard-on for Leonardo DiCaprio?"

"Bobby wasn't bad," Eden says. "He made me laugh. He had three black belts."

Isaac looks at her. "No wonder you started drinking," Isaac says. He slops more paint onto the canvas. "Does Gabriel know about that?"

"Know about what?"

"Rehab," Isaac says. "Your checkered past. Did you tell him?"

"I--"

"You didn't tell him," Isaac says. He starts brushing in quick criss-crosses, the brush making hard _swooshswoosh_ sounds against the canvas. "It's pretty stupid not to tell him," Isaac says.

"The last time I checked, we weren't in group," Eden says. She hops off the stool and stands. "I should get going," Eden says. "My lunch hour is almost over."

"You should move in with him," Isaac says again. He points a brush at her. "And bake her a pie. Moms love pie."

"Thanks," Eden says. She shakes her head and walks out the door.

.

That night, Eden and Gabriel reach his mother's apartment complex, walking up the dark wooden steps and down the hall. The hallway is dimly lit, and through the dirt-streaked windows Eden can still see snowfall. Gabriel knocks on the door. His mother bursts out of the doorway.

"Gabriel. Oh!" She throws her arms around Gabriel's neck.

"Mom, this is Eden," Gabriel says. Eden smiles shyly.

"Eden," Virginia says, and she takes Eden's face into her hands. "She's beautiful. Skin like porcelain. Oh, Gabriel she's like a little doll!" Eden laughs, nervously.

"Come in, come in," Virginia says. Gabriel opens the door and ushers Eden inside, and Eden is overwhelmed with the stale smell of old furniture and potpourri. "I just saw the doctor for my palpitations, I've been feeling _much_ better! He says I had anxiety. Can you believe that?" Virginia twitters, happily. "The doctor gave me these nerve pills, and it's just wonderful. Gabriel! Don't you think it's wonderful?"

"I wouldn't know, mom," Gabriel says. Virginia beams.

"He's always been very stable," Virginia says, proudly.

Eden wanders over to the mantle.

"Oh my God, is this you?" Eden asks. She picks up a picture of Gabriel and another girl holding hands. It's a prom photograph, and the arms and legs of Gabriel's tuxedo are too short for his long frame. Gabriel is grinning wide in the picture, the blonde leaning against his arm.

"You look so happy," Eden says. She touches the picture of Gabriel's face with her fingertip, leaving a mark in the thin layer of dust.

"Her mother made her go with me," Gabriel says. "As soon as we got the picture, she left me in a corner and went with another guy. It was so humiliating. I hated it."

"I never went to prom," Eden says. She wraps her arm around his waist and pulls him close.

.

"So, Gabriel tells me you're from California," Virginia says. "That's such a nice state. Very warm. I heard the beaches there are lovely."

"Oh they are," Eden says. "On some days the water's so clear you can see all the way to the bottom."

"Really?" Virginia says. "Gabriel's never been to California. I keep telling him, you can't learn about the world with your nose in a book. You have to travel! Talk to people! It's the only way you can better yourself."

Eden glances at Gabriel, who's pushing his mashed potatoes around with his fork. Virginia beams.

"You know, my Gabriel could have gone to Harvard," Virginia says.

"Mom!" Gabriel says.

"It's true," Virginia says. "But they were jealous of his talent. Gabriel's very talented. Very special. He's a very good catch," Virginia says. Eden laughs.

"He is," Eden says. She glances back at Gabriel and they share a small smile. Virginia goes up to check the oven. Eden leans close to him, speaking softly. "I love your mom," Eden says.

"You say that now, but wait until you're on the receiving end of her good intentions," Gabriel says.

"She loves you," Eden says. "She cares about you and she wants what's best for you. Not everybody can say that."

Virginia walks back to the table.

"We have some very nice wine--would you like some wine?" Virginia asks.

"I actually don't drink, but thank you, though," Eden says.

"Oh, just have a glass, it's good for your heart," Virginia says. She's already uncorking the bottle.

"Mom, she said no," Gabriel says.

"Let her have a sip, it's a very good vintage," Virginia says. Virginia pours Eden a glass of wine and sets it in front of her.

Eden knocks over the glass. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" Eden says. She quickly mops the wine up with a napkin. "God, I'm so clumsy. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to."

"Here, let me pour you another glass," Virginia says.

"Oh, no thank you, I'm fine," Eden says.

"No no, it's no trouble, let me pour you a glass--"

"No, that's okay, really," Eden says.

"Here, I'll pour it now--"

"No! I said no!" Eden says.

Eden and Virginia are both standing. Gabriel looks horrified. The wine is starting to drip onto the carpet.

Eden escapes to the bathroom. She slams the bathroom door and turns on the faucet. She's humiliated. She just wants to go home.

She hears Gabriel speaking.

"I told you she doesn't drink, why do you have to keep doing that?" Gabriel asks.

"It's just a little red wine! I thought it'd be nice!" Virginia says.

"Well it's not nice, you've made her upset!" Gabriel says.

Their voices clash then muffle together, like when Kim and her dad fought the night he left. Eden catches a reflection of herself in the vanity mirror. There are dark circles under her eyes, and her hair is starting to get long again. Eden touches her hair self-consciously; she can see the reflection of Christ on the cross floating above her shoulder. She just needs something to help her through this. Something...

Impulsively, Eden opens the medicine cabinet, and staring at her is the unassuming orange bottle of prescription Xanax. Eden grabs the bottle and pops off the cap. She shakes a couple pills into her hand. They feel so right sitting in the center of her palm.

She can't do this. She worked so hard to get sober, she can't do this now. Eden shoves the pills back into the bottle and tries hard not to cry.

Gabriel opens the bathroom door. "C'mon, we're going," he says. He grabs Eden's hand and yanks her out the door.

.

"That bullshit you were feeding my mom, was any of that true?" Gabriel asks. "And that little trick with the wine glass, you spilled it on purpose, didn't you?"

Eden blinks back tears. "I already said I was sorry," Eden says.

"No," Gabriel says. "No, no, no, I don't care about tonight. I'm talking about how you always lie."

"I don't lie--"

"You're always lying!" Gabriel says. "Eden, you write _Christmas cards_, and you don't send them to anyone in California, you send them to the flower shop and the Spanish bakery. I've yet to see one Christmas card sent back to your parents."

"Gabe, no--"

"Oh and it doesn't snow in Costa Verde, Eden," Gabriel says. "I may have never been to California, but anyone with half a brain could have figured that one out! Have you ever been to California? I'm starting to think you never even set foot there!"

"I'm not going to listen to this," Eden says. She grabs her coat.

"Where are you going?" Gabriel asks.

"Out," Eden says.

"Oh what, you're gonna run to Isaac?" Gabriel says. "Don't act like I don't know, I've seen you go there."

"What? So I'm not allowed to have friends, now?" Eden asks. "You're so fucking possessive, Gabriel! You need to calm the fuck down!"

"So you're not denying it," Gabriel says.

"Gabriel!"

"Eden I saw you go in there!" Gabriel says. "I went to the bookstore to have lunch with you, and you weren't there. You've been seeing him every day for the past month."

"Gabriel he's just a friend, I knew him from California--"

He slams his hand against the table. "Stop _lying_ to me!" Gabriel says. "That line you were feeding me about being hurt in the past, I can't believe I _fell_ for it," Gabriel says. "You're not moving in with me because you got hurt before, you're not moving in with me because you're seeing _him_!"

"That's not true! I love you--"

"You send Christmas cards to _strangers_, why should I be anything special?"

"Gabriel!" Eden starts crying. "Gabriel he's just a friend, please..."

"And why should I believe you?" Gabriel says. "You fuck people like shaking hands. I just can't believe I didn't figure it out sooner!"

Eden sobs. "Gabe..."

"Get out," Gabriel says.

"Gabe, please!"

"Get out!" Gabriel says.

Eden grabs her coat and runs out the door.

.

Eden bangs the door on Isaac's loft, but the windows are dark and he doesn't answer. Sobbing, she whirls around and stumbles toward the liquor store down the street. She lurches back into her apartment with two bottles of vodka, and she sinks onto her knees, crying so hard she starts retching. She opens the vodka with shaking hands and starts guzzling.

_"It ain't enough to have the goods, you gotta have a good stage name," Kim said. "They used to call me Paradise. Paradise. Like, you in hell now boy, but I be showing you heaven."_

Eden moans, crawling on her stomach.

_"It's your fault!" her father said. "You should have stayed with her! You fucking little bitch, you know how she gets! Why didn't you stay with her?"_

Eden throws up. Her stomach cramps and she's puking hard. She tries to get up but she stumbles. Her foot catches the rug and she slams on the floor. The bottles roll by her side.

.

In Queens, Gabriel sits with his fist balled up against his eye. His hands are shaking and he can't believe what's happened. He doesn't know why he said those things. That's Gabriel's real talent--knowing exactly what to say to hurt someone. He hates himself. A few moments pass and Gabriel grabs his coat. He needs to make sure she's okay.

Gabriel unlocks the door to her apartment. "Eden? Eden!"

Eden is sprawled on the floor, her skin gray and her eyes half open. Gabriel pulls her head up, but she's slack. She's covered in sweat and her skin is clammy. She's not breathing. Vomit runs down the corners of her mouth.

Gabriel calls 911.


	25. In the Hospital

In the Emergency Room, the doctors shove a tube down Eden's throat and put her on a ventilator to keep her breathing. They give her IV fluids and admit her to the hospital. "Her blood alcohol content is 0.7, which is fatal for most people," the doctor says. "We're going to admit her until her BAC goes down and she's awake again. We also had to intubate her to protect her airway--the alcohol is depressing her breathing, and she could vomit and aspirate into her lungs. We're hooking her up to a ventilator until she starts breathing on her own again."

Gabriel nods, dully. He watches them wheel Eden up to the elevator and disappear behind the metal doors. He takes the stairs to her room.

When he sees her, she looks like she's dead. Her skin is gray and her lips are chapped, and an endotracheal tube is shoved down her throat. White surgical tape keeps the tube from slipping, and Gabriel can see the red marks on her face from the adhesive.

A nurse walks into the room and starts recording her vitals. "How long is she going to be this way?" Gabriel asks. The nurse turns and shakes his head.

"They're estimating at least 48 hours; she ingested a lot of alcohol," the nurse says. "She's lucky you found her. She could have died tonight."

"I know," Gabriel says. He takes off his glasses and shoves a fist against his eyes.

.

"I think she's waking up," someone says, and Gabriel opens his eyes. He had fallen asleep beside Eden's bed. A female doctor and a male medical student stand beside him.

"We need to examine her, if you can just give us a minute?" the resident asks. Gabriel stands and waits at the doorway.

Gabriel stands at the doorway, listening to the resident and the medical student talk. He moves closer and peers his head in, and he can see them huddling around Eden's bed. Eden opens her eyes. She looks up slowly, turning her head. The tube is still down her throat.

"Sweetheart, you're in the hospital, and you've been intubated to help you breathe," the resident says. "Squeeze my hand if you can understand me..."

Gabriel watches the two of them examine her, listen to her heartbeat. Then they move to the corner of the room, speaking in low voices. Gabriel has to strain to hear them.

"She still has a blood alcohol content of 0.4," the medical student says. "Shouldn't she still be unconscious?"

Gabriel sees the resident take the medical student's arm. "She should be dead with those numbers," the resident says. "At what BAC will a person pass out?"

"0.15," the medical student says.

"Okay, and what BAC is fatal alcohol poisoning?"

"0.4," the medical student says. "Wait..." His eyes widen. "She came in with a 0.7," he says.

"And what does that tell you?" the resident asks.

The medical student looks confused.

"It tells you, she's built up a tolerance for alcohol," the resident says.

"How?" the medical student asks. Both Gabriel and the resident look at him.

"She's an alcoholic," the resident says. "This is how they present. They're walking, talking, breathing on their own when you or I would be comatose or dead." She closes the chart. "Okay, let's move on to the next patient..."

The medical student and the resident leave the room. The medical student sees Gabriel standing in the hallway. "You can see her now," the medical student says. He sees his resident already down the hall and trots off after her.

.

Gabriel enters Eden's room. Eden sees him come in, and raises her head. She's still intubated, but her eyes are open. She's small and frail in a too-big blue hospital gown, and when she turns her head, the large clear tube that's shoved down her throat moves slightly against the white tape, the ventilator heaving and sighing like bellows.

"Eden," Gabriel says, and he takes her hand. She squeezes his fingers.

"I found you unconscious," Gabriel says. "I took you to the hospital."

Eden moves her head slightly, then closes her eyes. Gabriel's grip on her hand tightens. "I thought you were dead," Gabriel says.

Eden opens her eyes, then shakes her head. Gabriel bows his head down and squeezes his eyes shut. He starts to cry, and he feels Eden squeezing his hand. She strokes his palm with the pad of her thumb.

.

Eden is conscious and is breathing spontaneously against the ventilator, so the doctors decide now is the time to extubate her.

"Squeeze my hand," the resident says. "If you can understand me squeeze my hand."

Standing at the doorway, Gabriel sees Eden squeeze her hand.

"Good," the resident says. "You're breathing well now, so you don't need this tube anymore. So we're going to pull it out. Is that okay?"

Gabriel sees Eden nod. The resident turns to the nurse and the medical student, and they talk in low voices. The resident looks back at Eden. "Okay honey we're going to extubate you," the resident says. "Tilt your head..."

There's suction, then flailing of her arms and legs. "Honey relax, relax." He sees her legs bending and then kicking out again, then hears the rush of wind and Eden coughing hard, her chest spasming. "Easy, easy," the resident says, and he hears Eden start to cry.

Gabriel rushes in. "Eden!" They pull back and let Gabriel pass.

Eden coughs. "Gabe." Her throat is hoarse. She coughs again.

"It's going to be a little sore, but it'll get better," the resident says. She turns to Gabriel. "I'm going to recommend to my attending that we keep her here a little longer, I'm not comfortable discharging her just yet," the resident says. "Her blood alcohol content is still really high, I'd feel better if it were down a bit more."

Gabriel nods, dumbly. The resident and the medical student leave the room.

Neither Eden nor Gabriel speak. Gabriel lowers the side railing to Eden's bed and leans his chest against the mattress. Eden moves and huddles close to him, and they stay like that for the rest of the afternoon.

.

The doctors round on Eden again. The medical student pulls up a chair. "We're going to ask you a few questions. Some may be kind of silly, some may be kind of hard, just do your best okay?"

The medical student pulls out a form. "Where are you now?" he asks.

"The hospital," Eden says.

"What day it is?" he asks.

"Tuesday," she says.

"And the season?"

Eden coughs. "Winter," she says.

"Okay, I'm going to say three words, and I want you to repeat them after me, 'apple, penny, table.'"

"Apple, penny table," Eden says.

"Okay now I want you to remember them, because I'm going to ask you them later. Can you count backwards from 100 by 5's?"

"100, 95, 90..."

"Good. Now can you do it by 7's?"

Eden pauses. "100...93...86..."

"Good. Now what were those three things?"

"Apple, penny, table," Eden says.

The medical student looks up at the resident. "I don't think she's drunk anymore," he says. The resident kicks the back of the medical student's chair. "Um, I mean, her cognitive function's intact."

The resident takes Eden's hand. "We're discharging you, honey," the resident says. "Your blood alcohol content is 0.1, but your motor and cognitive functions are intact, so there's no reason for you to stay here. The rest of the alcohol should be out of your system by tomorrow. Okay?"

"Okay," Eden says. She glances back up at Gabriel.

"You're going to be fine," the resident says. She hands Eden a card. "In case you need it," she says.

Gabriel takes the card from Eden; it's a referral for a substance abuse program. The resident gives him a knowing smile and leaves the room.


	26. Sarah in a Shell of Diamonds

Eden sleeps on Gabriel's shoulder on the taxi ride home. Even though she's walking and talking again, she's still extremely weak. She leans against him as he walks her up the stairs and into his apartment, and while she lies on the couch, he starts a bath; thankfully the water runs clear this time, and after the tub is filled he helps into the bathroom and helps her undress. He holds her arm when she steps into the bathtub, and once she's sitting down he washes her gently, dipping a washcloth into the warm water. She feels him start at her neck and shoulders and then to her breasts and belly, and he leans her forward a little to wash her back. Eden rests her head against Gabriel's clothed chest, and when she lies back down again, there's a large wet spot on his sweater where her head had rested.

He helps her out of the bath and helps her dress--again, she puts on one of his shirts--and he leads her to the bedroom. He helps her into bed, pulling down the covers and carefully draping them over her shoulders. He starts to stand up, but Eden touches his arm.

"Will you stay with me?" Eden asks. Her voice is still thin and weak from the endotracheal tube.

"You're sure?" Gabriel asks softly, and Eden nods, scooting a little to make room for him. Gabriel climbs into bed beside her and holds her close. He kisses the nape of her neck and presses his face into her hair.

"Eden I'm so sorry," Gabriel says, and the rims around his eyes darken. "What I said to you was awful, and I wish I could take it back."

"It's okay," Eden says. She kisses him and hugs him close. "It's okay."

"I thought you were dead," Gabriel says. "I thought..." His voice shatters and he buries his face against her shoulder again, and Eden holds on to him tight, sliding an open palm down his back.

"I'm here," Eden says. "It's okay, it's okay." And she kisses him and comforts him with her own propinquity, the whole of her body opening up with a shuddered sigh.

.

He lies with his eyes closed pillowed against her bare breasts, his arm draped over her side. She gathers him up and rests her lips against his forehead, pressing small kisses on his face and making him smile. "Ask me anything you want," Eden says softly. "I'll tell you everything. I promise."

Gabriel moves to meet her gaze. "What's your real name?" he asks. He softly touches her face.

"Sarah," Eden says. "Sarah Ellis." She trails a hand down his back. "I was born in Utah. My father was an alcoholic, and he used to beat me and my mom. My mom tried to kill herself when I was fourteen, and I was the one who found her." Eden closes her eyes.

"I was so messed up," Eden says. "I used to go into these clubs and pick up random guys, and for a night I'd convince myself that it was real. I was lonely; I didn't have anyone. I thought sex was the same thing as love and when I figured out it wasn't, I started drinking. I quit in Costa Verde though, and I came to Manhattan for a fresh start."

Gabriel touches the side of her face with his fingertips, tracing the outline of her jaw. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asks, softly.

"I don't know," Eden says. A tear slips down her face. "I was afraid if you knew what I was, you wouldn't want to be with me anymore," she says.

"No," Gabriel says. He kisses her gently. "I love you, Sarah," Gabriel says, and Eden starts to cry.

.

Eden's lease runs out, and Gabriel helps her move her things to his apartment. Eden makes Isaac help too, and she watches the two men struggle with her furniture. "It's too fucking big!" Isaac keeps saying, but Gabriel somehow manages to maneuver it up the stairs and to his apartment door.

Later, they stand in the middle of his apartment, staring at the boxes and boxes of Eden's stuff crammed up in the living room. "I don't understand, you don't have that much stuff," Gabriel says.

"No, these are my cookware," Eden says, and she pushes the boxes to the kitchen. Gabriel follows her and watches her rearrange his kitchen--cooking is the one thing he doesn't bother to learn, he lets Eden take care of that. Eden opens a cabinet door and bursts out laughing.

"What?" Gabriel asks. He puts his hands on Eden's shoulders.

"You've got books in your pantry!" Eden says. She turns around and laughs against his chest.

"I ran out of shelf space," Gabriel says. He takes the books down and throws them into the other room.

.

They finish unpacking, and Eden sets the two vanilla candles next to Gabriel's couch. She unwraps her little five-dollar vase and sets it on his table, and the next day, on her way home from work, she stops by another flower shop and buys some red Gerber daisies, which she arranges in the vase and sets on the table. When Gabriel comes home, they sit on the couch, Eden's head resting on Gabriel's chest. She tells him about her day and he tells her about his, and when they run out of things to talk about, they're content to just sit and hold each other, kissing softly and watching each other's eyes.

In the bedroom, Eden can hear Gabriel's neighbors fucking in the room beside them. _Oooh! Fuck! Yes! Yes!_ She can hear their neighbor's bed thudding against the wall.

"Assholes," Eden says, and she shakes Gabriel's shoulder.

"Mmm?" Gabriel rolls over and pulls her close. "What's wrong?"

"You don't hear that?" Eden asks.

"Oh, them? Yeah, they're at it all the time, I'm surprised you didn't notice before," Gabriel says.

"No, we usually stayed at my place," Eden says. "Have they always been this loud?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Gabriel says. He closes his eyes.

"Even before you met me?" Eden asks.

"Yeah," Gabriel says. He sounds like he's falling back asleep.

Eden shakes his shoulder again.

"Mmm?"

"I think we should be loud, too," Eden says. "And we should do it at 4 AM, so it wakes them up."

Gabriel starts laughing. "No, go to sleep," Gabriel says.

"I can be really loud," Eden says.

Gabriel laughs against her shoulder. "I know, you're being loud right now! Go to sleep," he says. He kisses her on the forehead. "I love you," he says.

"Love you too," Eden says. She reaches a hand across his chest. "I'm setting the alarm for four."


	27. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

.

Eden once said, if you have something you love, it's never really yours until you give it a name. That's why Eden calls him "Gabe," and Gabriel calls her "Sarah." To the rest of the world, though, she's still just Eden. "I don't want to have to explain all that again to everybody else," Sarah says, and Gabriel smiles into her hair. It's their secret, and it's what makes him special.

They cut through a yellow field, and Sarah takes Gabriel's hand and leads him down the dusty dirt road to where the lone black tree bows to the earth, and the ruins of her old home stand. "This is it," Sarah says. "This is where I lived." The field rolls out to the horizon and an endless sky, and the grasses move slightly in the wind. "Come on," Sarah says. "I'll show you the barn."

They walk around to what was once a backyard, the old barn leaning heavily in the sunshine. Sarah pushes open the door and walks inside. Gabriel follows her, and he has to squint his eyes because of how bright it is inside, the bales of hay that were left molding in the corners glowing orange in the sun. Sarah climbs the loft and Gabriel sees her standing backlit in the sunshine, and she tosses him the rope from the rafters, which falls onto the straw with a thud. Gabriel picks up the rope and feels its weight in his hands, the thickness of it. He imagines Sarah's mother--who looked just like her--standing at the edge of the loft, tying the noose. Sarah climbs back down and picks up the rope. "I don't even know how she tied it," Sarah says. Tears spring to her eyes.

At the hotel room, Gabriel doesn't sleep. He rests his lips against the crown of Sarah's hair, and watches the soft streaks of moonlight filtering into the room. Ignoring the ticking of the clock, he concentrates on Sarah's breathing, the soft, steady pulse of breath that pushes up against his cheek. He remains awake like that for the rest of the night, until the moonlight fades and the sun begins to rise, and the shadows in the room grow dim and are swallowed up by the sun.

.

_-FIN-_


End file.
